


By Invitation Only

by ghostofnoodlewrap



Series: Vaguely interconnected fics where Jon and Martin are kinky [4]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Bondage, Canon Asexual Character, Consensual Non-Consent, Dirty Talk, Edgeplay, Fluff and Smut, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Manhandling, Past Rape/Non-con, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26110279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofnoodlewrap/pseuds/ghostofnoodlewrap
Summary: Sometimes it’s a sticky business unpicking the wants behind a kink. Doubly so when it’s something taboo like this. Yes, Jon wants this, but it would be so much easier if they didn’t have to talk about it first.Too bad that’s not how this works.(Reading other fics in this series is not necessary, but highly welcomed)(CW: Please mind the tags - this fic contains both discussion of previous sexual assault and a forced sex fantasy. More specific content warnings can be found inside and at the start of each chapter.)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Vaguely interconnected fics where Jon and Martin are kinky [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1808656
Comments: 60
Kudos: 290





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As said in the summary, this fic concerns both discussion of past sexual assault and a forced sex fantasy. More specific detail will be given at the start of each chapter, but a brief content warning for each chapter is given below.
> 
> If you are here for only the fluff, you may wish to skip to just chapter 5.
> 
> CW:  
> Chapter 1 - Incomplete kink negotiation of a forced sex fantasy, and discussion of past sexual assault  
> Chapter 2 - Roleplayed Forced sex scene, which is a little under-negotiated (for this series, at least)  
> Chapter 3 - Negotiation of a better planned forced sex scene  
> Chapter 4 - The scene planned in chapter 3  
> Chapter 5 - After care of the scene in chapter 4, including going through photos taken during the scene. Also where most of the fluff in this fic is.  
> -(mostly) feminine terminology is used for Jon's genitalia in this fic.
> 
> More in-depth CW for chapter 1:  
> -Jon brings up the rape roleplay they have both hinted at being interested in during the past.  
> -Discussion of why some people enjoy forced sex fantasies, which includes mild acephobia on Jon's part.  
> -Jon requests Martin not use a condom, despite the fact this has triggered Jon in the past.  
> -Jon discusses his past sexual assaults, which include an alcohol induced date rape pre-transition and corrective rape post-transition.

There's a drop of milky tea crawling its way down the side of Martin's mug. He must have overfilled it, not quite enough to slosh over the edge of the porcelain, but enough that even setting the mug down gently displaced a few drops. Jon watches it creep down towards the coaster, then it's eventual splatter onto the table when Martin picks up his mug and it gets shaken free. Jon wraps his fingers around his own mug, relishing the warmth beneath his boney fingers. It's still too hot for his tastes.

"What's up?" Martin asks, and Jon's eyes snap off his target. "You were staring into nothing again."

"Just lost in thought." Jon says.

"Anything interesting?" Martin asks.

'Not really' is the correct answer, but there has been something on Jon's mind. For a while now. He waits just long enough for Martin to rap his nails pointedly on the table. It’s not a sound Jon particularly likes. Sets his teeth on edge.

"I think I've mentioned before that I'm into the idea of rape roleplay. Or well, forced sex. Is that too much for you?" Jon says.

Martin shakes his head. "I like the idea. It's how much I like the idea that makes me feel…"

"Don't feel guilty about it," Jon says, "it's a more common kink than you think."

"I still don't like the idea of being someone who can get off on raping somebody." Martin says.

It's bizarre Martin can even begin to think he's such a person. He is, beyond anything else, an earnest people pleaser, which is about as far from a rapist as it's possible to get. Besides, Martin appears to be well versed enough in BDSM to know that having a fetish does not translate into a desire to act upon it outside of the boundaries of kink.

"It wouldn't be like a real rape. There wouldn't be the fear it needs there." Jon says. "It's about you controlling me, making me do things that I absolutely want to do, but you're forcing me to do them and then I don't have to feel guilty for wanting them."

"Do you often feel guilty about wanting sex?" Martin asks.

"Sometimes." Jon says. He takes a sip of his tea. It's an acceptable temperature now. "During my childhood and for most of my teenage years, society viewed me as female. And young women are taught some fucked up things about expressing themselves sexually. Those lessons stuck, even if I don't identify as female. The way a lot of people pedestalize ace people as these saints devoid of lust really didn't help there either."

Sometimes, Jon doesn't feel like he's ace enough. It's stupid. He knows it's stupid. But when people have the impression that asexuals never have sex, they can’t possibly know what it is to _want_ , and that their relationship with their genitals is strictly sterile, well…

It's easy to slip into that route of logic even though Jon knows his sexuality is perfectly valid as he normally expresses it.

Martin considers for a moment. "I can't say I've ever thought about that. Or how it would relate to this sort of thing."

"We've already done a lot of things with skewed power dynamics, things where you tie me up and tease me until I beg you to fuck me. This just takes it in a different direction." Jon says.

"I don't think I need much convincing." Martin smiles. It's still a little timid.

'I didn't think so." Jon replies. "It's been a hard limit with my previous partners, but I want to try it. I mean, I don't know if I…"

There's no guarantee he'll enjoy the fantasy outside of his own head is what Jon means. It's unlikely that will be the case though. There's some solid trial and error that shows that Jon gets off best when he's struggling against where Martin has pinned him down.

Besides, there's so many ways in which this isn't okay, in which it's breaking taboos. God, he shouldn't be fetishizing something so traumatic, something that really happened to him! It should make Jon feel sick, but it doesn't.

"It's okay for you to want this too." Martin says, and he waits for Jon's shy smile before continuing. "I think we'll need to talk this through quite carefully so that we don't bump too hard against anyone's boundaries."

Jon lets out a long breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He takes another sip of tea, lets the taste of it wash the guilt out of his mouth.

"A lot of it is stuff we've done before." Jon says. "I want you to tie me up, although I won't go easy into it this time. I don't mind you getting rough with me though. I'll tell you no and I'll struggle, but you don't stop unless one of us safewords."

"I like it when we do stuff like that." Martin says. "Can you elaborate on the getting rough with you part?"

"Manhandling me and forcing me into restraints is good. So is hitting me a bit, but not hard enough to bruise. I like the shock of it in the moment more than the actual pain. And my clothes. One time you…" Jon makes a gesture with his hands, a sort of tearing motion.

"You want me to rip your clothes off?" Martin asks. He's smiling, all smug tomcat who got the cream and wears the milk mustache proudly.

"That was very hot." Jon says softly. "I liked it."

More than liked it. Got hot and squirmy at it, both at the physical level where ripping his clothes put pressure on his clit, and the symbolic level of Martin tearing away the last obstacle in his course to fucking Jon.

"I can do that." Martin says. "Anything else important to the scene?"

"I don't want you to use a condom." Jon says. "And I want you to come inside me."

"Are you sure about that?" Martin says after an uncomfortably long pause. "That's usually something you're totally against."

True, but it’s definitely on the softer end of his limits. I can be something Jon can get behind under the right circumstances and if he knows it’s going to happen. And these are certainly the right circumstances.

"You don't have to if you're not comfortable with it, but we're using other methods of birth control now. And none of my rapists ever used a condom, that much I remember."

"Wait, are you trying to recreate something that happened to you?" Martin asks. He looks concerned. "I'm not sure it's really my place to say it, but that doesn't sound exactly healthy."

Jon shakes his head no. "Forced sex fantasies are common, even among sexual assualt victims. Believe me, I did a lot of research trying to convince myself that I wasn't fucked up. There are things I'd like to reclaim from what happened, but I'm not looking to retraumatize myself here." He laughs humourlessly. "Besides, I have much fresher traumas to choose from. It's not like I'm asking you to tie me up and slather me in lotion here."

That would be…

Well there's nothing attractive Jon can see about that prospect. He doesn't really moisturise much anymore, damn the condition of his skin.

"I guess if you're sure about it…" Martin says. He doesn't sound sure about it.

"The fantasy is very far from the actual reality of being raped." Jon says. "Trust me, I know. I get a lot of the input about what I want you to do to me. A lot of the, well, sexy part is that I trust you to stop if it gets too much or if it does trigger me."

"But I don't know what your triggers are! I don't know what happened to you. Not that I expect you to tell me. I don't need to know any details if you don't want to give them, but without them I can't promise I won't do something you don't like."

"I don't mind telling you." Jon says. "Telling people can be cathartic. It's going to be a bit heavy though."

Martin wouldn't be the first person he's ever told. And he can live with Martin knowing, especially if it helps Martin to know.

And it might help Jon too. Yes, lancing a boil hurts and the pus is smelly and makes a mess as you drain it away, but that boil is going to stay red and raw until you do it. And they usually heal up fine after, so long as the open wound is treated right.

"You don't have to…" Martin says.

"I know you want to know."

Martin doesn't have a response, but his silence is telling.

"For what it's worth," Martin says after a while, "I'm sorry it happened."

Jon shakes his head. "I don't need you to be sorry for me." He says. "Sorry doesn't go back and stop it from happening. Your support is what I need now."

"I can support you." Martin says like if he says it firmly enough it will confirm that.

"I meant that literally right now." Jon says. "I don't think I can have this conversation sterilly from across the table from you."

Martin reaches across the table to take Jon's hands in his. His fingers are much warmer than Jon's own. They always seem to be.

Jon clutches back desperately.

"What do you need?" Martin asks.

"Will you hold me?" Jon says. "I don't think I can handle it if you reject me over this." He adds quietly.

There's a little bleeding part of his heart settled over the possibility that Martin may decide he's too much hassle once he knows the truth of Jon and will drop him to find someone with less baggage.

"I'm not going to reject you." Martin says. "Come cuddle with me on the couch."

Jon nods. He could sob in relief, but he holds the noise in. He follows Martin when he stands, lets Martin walk him over to the sofa. Martin doesn't drop Jon hands and when he sits down and Jon goes down with him.

Martin is comfortable. A good hugger. His arms encircle Jon and he feels safe within them, under the just-enough pressure Martin squeezes him with. It’s a pity the day is really too warm for a fuzzy blanket as well.

"Okay?" Martin asks when they're settled.

"Yeah." Jon says. 

He doesn't say anything more for a moment. Just takes a moment to breathe Martin's scent before they take a wander down a dark path.

"My grandmother kept me on a pretty long leash, but she did have some rules. There’s this stereotype that good desi girls focus on their education and don't date until they have a good job and settle down with a boy their family approves of. She was born in the forties and while there were lots of ways she wasn’t old fashioned, she did believe that mixing with boys would stop me from studying. So, when I was twelve, she told me I wasn't to get a boyfriend and that she'd kick me out of the house if I got pregnant before before I graduated from uni."

And helpfully implanted a life-long fear of pregnancy. She knew Jon still hung out with boys despite her warning, but so long as neither admitted it to the other, apparently that was okay.

"That's pretty…"

"It's more common than you think. And not just in my culture either, although I admit stereotypes are often born from somewhere." Jon says. "It just meant she didn't meet my boyfriend when I got one. We broke up fairly quickly. Never got beyond kissing. My teenage years were confusing. I knew something was wrong, but I hadn't figured out that I was ace or trans yet."

"I don't think I can imagine." Martin says.

Jon shakes his head against that. There's no easy comparison a cis or allo person can have for the way he experiences the world.

"I spent a lot of time trying to convince myself I was something I'm not. The second boy, the relationship couldn't exactly be considered platonic, but I didn't ever consider us more than friends. He thought we were dating, though, and soon most of our friends thought the same. We fooled around a bit, sure, but when he asked if I wanted to have sex, I told him no. He kept asking, though, over the next couple of weeks, up until a friend threw a party."

"I can already see this isn't going anywhere good." Martin says.

"Yeah. Funny that." Jon says, even if it's anything but. "Several of us had just turned sixteen - my birthday was just over a week before." 

Martin's fingers tighten on Jon's arm. "Still okay?" Jon asks him.

"Yeah." He says and his fingers relax a bit. "I didn't think you were so young when it happened."

"Sixteen isn't that young. I wasn't a little kid."

It's old enough to know what sex was. Old enough to know that getting drunk with a boy who wanted to get into his pants was a bad idea. Just a pity that he didn't get to have a good experience with sex first.

"You were still a child!" Martin says.

"Then so was he. And I was a drunk child." Jon says. "The party was at a different friend's. Her parents weren't in that weekend. It wasn't a big thing, maybe twenty of us? We pitched in and got some older siblings to buy us alcohol. The boy - I'm not going to deign to give his name - kept getting me more to drink. I knew he was doing it, but I didn't keep track of how much he was getting me to drink and I didn’t realise how drunk I was getting. I don't remember much from later that night, but some friends told me I got to the point where I was only intermittently conscious, and he offered to take me upstairs and put me to bed. Neither of us came back down."

Martin rubs little circles on Jon's shoulder. Jon leans back against him a little more.

What the boy did still rankles, still stings. But it's the throb of an old scar, a proof of healing, rather than the sharp lance of an infected wound. Jon has moved forward in his life past this.

"I don't remember the act itself, and this was before camera phones really got popular, so there's no video or photo evidence that it happened. But I do remember the morning after." Waking up with his head splitting open, but also sore below where he'd never been before. "I think the worst part was the way his come just started to slide out of me when I stood up, that it had just been there inside me all night."

"That's why you don't like it when I come inside." Martin says.

"It's not the act itself, it's just I don't feel clean until it's out of me." Jon replies. "I went to the pharmacy, but you need to be seventeen to get the morning after pill without a prescription."

The pharmacist wasn't rude about Jon's age, or the medication he needed to take. If fact, she went out of her way to make sure Jon has access to the help he didn't know he sorely needed.

"And you were sixteen."

Jon nods. "They told me that sixteen was old enough to see a doctor without parental permission and gave me directions to a nearby sexual health clinic. They'd be able to give me the pill if I talked with a doctor. It wasn't until the doctor asked if I wanted a rape kit exam too that it even crossed my mind that I'd been assualted. I didn't end up getting one. I didn't want to report it."

"No offense Jon, but why the hell not?"

Oh. Ouch.

A familiar shame curls within Jon.

"I knew it would get back to my grandmother and I thought she'd blame me. And he was just another teenager. Teens make-"

Jon stiffens as the knowledge floods into his head unbidden.

"What?" Martin asks. 

"He didn't stop with me." Jon says starkly. "I was the first, but he's in prison now on three counts of rape." And about a dozen other went unreported. "If I'd said something…" Jon shakes his head. "No, I am not going to feel guilty about this."

"Still feeling alright?" Martin asks.

"I mean, I'm not okay by any stretch of the imagination, but I want to keep going. Is that alright?" Jon says.

"Sure." Martin replies. "If there is more."

"Yeah, uh, I've been raped twice." Jon says. "The second time was a whole lot worse, so brace yourself."

"You don't have to tell me." Martin says immediately. "Not if you don't want to."

"I want to though, if that's okay?" Jon waits for Martin to nod before continuing. "Good. It's like a Statement. I'm not sure if I even could stop now."

Jon takes a breath and steels himself for the next chapter in the abridged story of his life. The words flow from him with much greater ease than expected. Martin isn't having to needle or pull each word out through clenched teeth like Jon feared he might have to.

"The clinic sent me off with the morning after pill and a bunch of prescriptions to stop me from contracting any STDs. The fallout at school was not great. There were some rumours about that night floating around so…"

"Kids can be nasty." Martin says.

They can. And sometimes the things they say about you can linger for years. Can mill about your head like a relative who you struggle to get rid of at the end of a long visit. Can carry forward into future chapters of your life.

"I'm not ace because I was raped. I've always been this way." Jon says.

Not a direct link to Martin's comment, but Jon's heard that enough times. _You wouldn't be ace if your first time was actually good_. It's taken years, but Jon no longer believes that lie.

"Did you come out after that?" Martin asks.

"No. I still hadn't worked it out then. I figured I was trans a couple of months after I turned eighteen, but didn't begin to transition until after sixth form. I literally went to uni a new man and figured I was ace after a few months there."

Jon's throat is getting dry. He wishes he still had that cup of tea, but it's empty and the mugs are still over on the table. And getting a drink would involve getting out of Martin's embrace. He needs to be touched now. Needs Martin to subtly tell him there's nothing wrong with him, that he can still accept Jon now knowing this.

"I ended up getting quite active in the LGBT society at uni. Traditionally it had been quite a club for gay men, with lesbians making up most of the rest of the population. I became quite active setting up events for lesser known demographics. As an ace, biromantic, trans man, I fit into a lot of those groups. I met Georgie through the society in my second year and we started dating."

"It wasn't her, was it?" Martin looks aghast at the thought.

"No, God no," Jon says, "she just helped me get through the aftermath. We were together at the time it happened. Even these days, the LGBT community hasn’t exactly reached a consensus about who belongs, but it was even worse back then. And I was outspoken about being in several of the minority groups. I don't know if they came after me because I was ace or trans or what. It wasn't like the way I identified was a secret by any means."

"Corrective rape then?" Martin asks.

The words themselves leave a sour taste in Jon's mouth. He's never been able to say those words himself, even if he knows what the situation was.

Jon nods. "Invalidating the way I identify is another trigger because of that." More than just because of it, but...

"I think that's a trigger for most people, and it's not something I'd do to you." Martin says. “I’d only consider it if you specifically asked, which I know you’re not going to do.”

Jon nods. "They planned it. Apparently had been stalking me for a couple of weeks to learn my schedule, but I never noticed." Jon says. "They worked out that I often worked late at the library and walked back in the early morning. I was ambushed by a group of four of them around three AM. I'm a little fuzzy on the details. They beat me first and a bit after. I took a couple of blows to the head, and earned myself a nasty concussion. Then they took turns pinning me down while they raped me one by one." He says it nonchalantly, as if it wasn't one of the worst things he's ever been through, even after all the stuff at the Archives.

He offers no more detail than that. Martin doesn’t ask for a play-by-play, which is a good thing, because Jon really doesn’t want to give him one. Yes, Martin wants to know what to avoid, but…

Well he already knows what Jon likes in bed. Hopefully Jon isn’t reading the situation wrong and Martin just wants to know the sort of situations to avoid.

"God that's awful." Martin whispers.

Jon grimaces. "I just count myself lucky to still be alive because one of them wanted to toss me into the river and I doubt I would have survived."

Martin doesn't say anything in response to that, but Jon hears his sharp intake in breath. The arms around him tighten slightly as if in protection from the avoided drowning.

"The others talked him out of it. They left me there and I was found by an early morning jogger maybe an hour later? Long enough for me to get cold." Jon says. "I was lucky. A lot of people in my situation don't walk out of encounters like that alive."

"Did you report it?" Martin asks.

"I think the hospital staff did it for me?" Jon says. "The police were already there when I regained something resembling lucidity. I had a severe concussion and several broken bones. It was a severe enough crime that they had already decided to press charges."

"They can do that without asking you?" Martin asks. He sounds reasonably appalled.

"Apparently? Corpses don’t testify at murder trials, so if there’s enough evidence, they don’t need your statement. They pressed me into talking to the police and lawyers anyway - Georgie helped too. They can start proceedings without your consent, but they really need the victim to testify or the case normally gets dropped for insufficient evidence."

"I didn't know that was legal. Huh." Martin says.

"Neither did I. Anyway, two of the guys cut a deal in exchange for testifying against the others, who were identified as the ring leaders. The whole ordeal was mostly kept out of the news, but the stress of the trial was intense. I ended up retaking all of my exams that summer, and though Georgie supported me through all of it, I wasn't in the right headspace for a relationship at the end of it."

"Did you get any help afterwards?" Martin asks.

The lawyers had pretty much shoved the idea of counselling down Jon's throat. He didn't want to at first, but Georgie was there to add pressure as well. Looking back, Jon's glad for the help, for the extra layer of support. The trials were almost too much even with counselling.

"For a bit, yeah. I had to shop around. There's plenty of professionals out there that consider asexuality to be an illness and I had to jump ship on a few."

"That's it then?" Martin asks. "There's no more?"

"Wasn't that quite enough?" Jon says with force.

"Not like that or anything. I meant the story. I mean, I'm sorry this ever happ-"

"I've told you what I think about people feeling sorry for me. I’m a survivor, not a victim."

"Oh, God! I didn't mean- I'm-" Martin clamps his mouth shut before the dreadful word can escape. "And now I can't even apologise. What is this awful loop you've got me stuck into?"

"It happened. I'm mostly over it. I have a fetish that's going to have to be carefully considered before acting upon it."

"I don't mean anything bad, but I don't think you're in the right headspace to negotiate right now." Martin says.

Jon nods, his lips crunching into a little grimace. Martin is of course right. Dredging this stuff up has worsened his mood and arguably his mental state. Any scenes negotiated right now would be tainted with self-destructive behaviour. It's good of Martin to notice that, because Jon would just plough on ahead.

"And if we don't take your mind off it," Martin continues, "you're going to stew on it and get yourself into a feedback loop where you feel awful."

"Probably." Jon admits. "But what are you going to do about that?"

"We could go do something together. The day is still young." Martin says. "Can you exercise in a binder? I find exercise helps snap me out of negative thought spirals."

"Sounds hellish," Jon says, "but yes, though I'll probably need to take frequent breaks."

There's a binder he has that's a couple of sizes too big that's precisely for that purpose. Not that he really has much cause to use it because most of his exercise can be categorised as ‘running away from things that are trying to eat me’ and you don’t normally plan your day to involve that. Jon doesn't mind sweating through it- particularly as he considers it inferior to the binders which fit him better and get him more properly flat.

"Let's see what options we have in our local area." Martin says, and he picks up his phone for a quick search. "Oh- there's a trampoline park nearby." He says after a few moments.

How juvenile.

"That sounds silly." Jon says.

"Silly and exhilarating." Martin agrees. "Are you in?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW:  
> -Wrestling, which turns sexual.  
> -Said sex is a consensual non-consent scene and is under-negotiated (at least for this series).  
> -Some of the dirty talk in this concerns prostitution and gang rape.

They don’t eat in front of the T.V. often, but the last few Saturdays there’s been this terribly acted drama Martin has insisted on watching - apparently it’s a remake of a childhood favorite. Jon could tell him all the twists that are coming up. He Knows how it’s going to end. He couldn’t help it.

He doesn’t tell Martin. Watching him get invested is too much fun.

(His favourite character will be dead by the end of the episode, but will return having faked her death just in time to save the day during the finale.)

They finish the meal in the early portion, but Jon decides clearing the plates can wait until the show is over. He might sniff at the quality of the writing, but once the plates went on the coffee table for safe-keeping, Martin’s hands wrapped around his waist and the embrace more than makes up for it.

When the credits roll, Jon gets up. Or tries to, at least. Martin’s arms tighten around him, just a little bit. Enough that Jon can’t actually get off the sofa.

“Let me up, you oaf.” Jon swats at his arms.

Martin snorts. “Like you can’t get out of this.” He says.

Jon is silent for a moment. “You know that you’re a lot stronger than I am?” He says after a while. A while where he strained to get up, but failed. He can’t break Martin’s hold on him.

Martin’s a big guy, tall as well as broad. Yes, there’s a fair amount of pudge to him, enough to make him nice and soft, but there’s plenty of muscle below that. Jon’s seen him carry three full filing boxes at once, which, while precarious, didn’t make him break a sweat. Meanwhile, just one box can make Jon’s arms sore, and he can’t fathom lifting two at once. He has assistants for a reason. They literally do the heavy lifting for him.

“I’m not that strong.” Martin says. He must still think Jon is putting it on.

“Really?” Jon says. “Arm wrestle me then.”

“You know what, fine.” Martin says.

The table is at an odd height, so they end up kneeling on the floor. The plates get shoved to one side and Jon puts his elbow in the centre of the coffee table. He wriggles his fingers until Martin takes up the same position and clasps his hand with Jon’s.

“Alright?” Martin asks. When Jon nods, Martin begins a countdown: “Three, two, one, go!”

Jon actually starts pushing on ‘one’, not ‘go’, and it gains him a couple of inches on Martin’s side. But Martin flexes and Jon loses his advantage quickly. Martin doesn’t slam Jon’s wrist down easily (like he probably could), but he keeps up enough pressure on Jon’s arm that he finds himself losing ground at a frankly alarming speed, their forearms arcing down at a slow but steady pace. His wrist trembles from exertion and he can feel a couple of beads of sweat bead up on his brow, but Martin isn’t even red-faced.

“Come on, Jon.” Martin says, pausing with their arms about forty five degrees from the table. “Give it a bit of effort.”

“I am trying.” Jon says through gritted teeth. He finds a second well of strength and pushes.

At first it looks like he might be able to get Martin to budge a little, but Martin just adds to the pressure on Jon’s arm and he keeps moving their arms slowly but surely towards the table. Jon’s arm gives out over the last couple of inches and his hand slams down. The cutlery rattles.

“See.” Jon tells Martin.

“That barely counts.” Martin says as Jon rubs his knuckles. “It’s just my arm.”

“Have you got a good reason for just your right arm being strong?” Jon asks.

“Ah, screw you!” Martin says, and Jon just grins. “You can’t judge strength on just an arm wrestle.”

“Okay then.” Jon says with faint amusement. “Let’s try something a bit more rounded. We both stand in the middle of the room - I try to get you to this side, you try to get me to that side. First person to get their opponent to touch the wall wins.”

He points at the walls that are the furthest apart. Their living room is thin, but reasonably long. But as a London flat, it’s still not exactly big and the room is only a tad over ten meters in length.

Jon doesn’t comment when Martin goes to stand not exactly in the centre of the room. He’s given Jon about a metre of advantage, although Jon suspects that’s not going to end up meaning much. Martin’s hands come down on Jon’s shoulders and upper arms. The height difference between them is too great for that to be a good strategy for Jon, so he rests his hands on Martin’s chest.

“Ready? Go!” Jon says.

Martin doesn’t put any pressure on Jon until he feels Jon push against him. He doesn’t budge an inch, even when Jon puts his back into it. Martin takes a step forward.

Jon’s feet skid when he refuses to step back, even though it’s socks on carpet. Martin keeps coming, the hulk of him pressing into Jon’s space until he loses the ground he had. Jon tries to bat his hands away, tries to push against Martin’s arms, but Martin just catches his wrists, holds them in one hand while he plants the other in the centre of Jon’s chest.

His socks bunch where Martin gets him skidding back until they slip off entirely. Jon digs his toes into the carpet, but it’s not thick enough to really get a purchase on and he makes the choice to step backwards instead of risking carpet burn.

Martin takes every inch he gives, then presses Jon for more. Jon tries, he really does, pushing back until his muscles shake and he’s red faced. It gets Martin’s onslaught to slow, but not entirely stop, and soon enough that reserve of strength within Jon is drained.

All too soon Martin is pressing Jon’s back into the wall.

Martin crowds him up against it, uses his grip on Jon’s hands to pin them either side of his head and pushes Jon into the wall using his body. “I thought you were going to try.” Martin says.

“I did.”

“C’mon Jon, really?” Martin says.

So he does. He really does. He pushes back against Martin’s hands on his wrists, arcs his back and tries to use the wall as a base to push himself back against Martin. Jon’s arms get maybe two inches from the wall, shaking with the effort of pitting all his strength against Martin. His breathing is harsh and laboured, Jon realises. It’s not entirely from exertion.

Martin, apparently amused by the display, slams Jon’s wrists back up against the wall.

“You see?” Jon says.

“Yeah.” Martin replies. He doesn’t let Jon go.

“You’ve overpowered me.” Jon licks his dry lips. “You could do anything you want to me right now, and I wouldn’t be able to stop you. I’m helpless.”

“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do.” Martin says.

“I can’t stop you, though.” Jon says, hoping the subtext is getting through to Martin. Maybe lay it on a little stronger then? “You could do anything to my body and I’d just have to take it.”

Martin must get some of the hints he’s sending, because he slides his thigh up between Jon’s legs. The pressure is a blessed relief, but still pinned against the wall, Jon doesn’t really have the leverage to grind down on it.

“Jon, do you want me to fuck you?” Martin asks, plain and simple.

“Yes-” Jon replies, but the rest of the sentence is cut off into a whine as Martin grinds his thigh up into him. He lets his eyes flutter closed. He can tell Martin the rest in a moment.

“You’re such a needy slut sometimes.” Martin says and Jon should feel shame at that, but there’s just the warm thrum of arousal instead.

“I want you to fuck me, but I want to pretent that you’ve overpowered me and are making me do it.” Jon manages.

“I have overpowered you.” Martin says. He increases the pressure on Jon’s wrists and pushes his thigh up into Jon’s nether regions again, which gets Jon moaning.

“This is consensual, I just want to pretend it’s not entirely, if that’s okay?” Jon says.

“Should we stop and talk about this?” Martin asks. He eases the pressure against Jon’s body, slides his leg out from where it was nice and snug against Jon’s crotch, and Jon could cry at how terrible, how awful the loss is.

“Objectively, yes, but I don’t want to.” Jon replies. “I know it’s under negotiated, but I want you so badly right now.”

“We’ll talk more after, okay?” Martin says. “But just to check, safewords as normal? I don’t have a condom on me as this is kind of impromptu, but I won’t come inside you this time. Also, do you want me to be a bit rough with you, maybe spank you a bit?”

Jon just has time to nod and say yes to all of it before Martin leans down and kisses him. It’s a hot, savage thing. Martin’s tongue pushes its way into his mouth and takes scope of the flesh within. Then it’s gone as swift as it arrived and Martin’s kissing his way over Jon’s jaw and neck until he’s able to bite at Jon’s clavicle.

Jon tries to push his way out of Martin’s hold while he’s distracted, but Martin notices and pins him back tight. Mercifully, he slides his leg back between Jon’s and rucks it up so that it grinds against Jon’s clit.

“You’re not getting away from me that easily,” Martin says, “so why don’t you just stay there and take what I give you?”

“Please-” Jon starts, not sure if he’s going to beg Martin to stop or plead for him to continue. He doesn’t get the chance to find out, because Martin ruts his thigh up into Jon in sharp rhythmic thrusts.

Martin leans in close, whispers “whore” into Jon’s ear.

Jon’s voice catches in his chest. Martin keeps up the onslaught and there isn’t even a part of him that Jon can grab hold of with his arms pinned like this. “Oh God.” He says. “Oh God, I-” and that’s all he manages before it breaks into a yell as he comes.

“I knew you were a slut, but I didn’t think you’d be this easy.” Martin’s breath tickles his ear, warm and wet and Jon whimpers. “I could probably pick you up and shag you against the wall,” he continues, “but I couldn’t really do that and pin you down as well, and we don’t want you to get away now do we? So needs must.”

The weight of Martin’s body on his is gone abruptly, but it’s only a second before Martin’s arm catches him around the back and pulls him away from the wall. Martin manhandles Jon over to their mostly unused armchair (with only a minimal and slightly ceremonial struggle from Jon) and pushes him down over the arm.

The wind gets knocked out of him as the arm of the chair digs into his stomach. The position isn’t painful, just a little uncomfortable. Jon tries to push himself up.

Martin grabs both of his wrists and folds them into the small of Jon’s back. He pinions Jon there, one handed, Jon realises as he feels Martin’s other hand run up and down his back. He might have a chance at breaking free then!

Jon pushes up against Martin’s hand, but his grip on Jon doesn’t falter.

One handed. Martin can hold Jon down one handed. That shouldn’t make Jon this wet, shouldn’t make him squeeze his thighs together in an effort not to squirm with arousal.

“Uh-uh.” Martin says. “We’ll have none of that from you. Legs apart, slut.” 

Martin uses his free hand to pull down Jon’s trousers. The boxers beneath them are a faded-out pastel blue, and Martin nudges Jon’s thighs apart with the back of his hand before rubbing roughly at the apex between his legs.

“I’d ask if you’re enjoying this, but I don’t really care.” Martin says as he slides Jon’s underwear off. “I’ve decided I’m going to fuck you whether you want me to or not.” When Jon doesn’t say anything he adds “um, colour?”

“Green.” Jon says. “God Martin, this is fantastic.”

“Great.” Martin says. “I’m green too. I’m just going to, uh, get back to it I guess?”

Martin caresses Jon’s bottom for a moment or two, then he lays down a couple of cracking smacks with the flat of his hand. Jon cries out in response, but Martin just says “That’s the kind of treatment whores like you deserve.”

“I’m not a whore.” Jon says. “Please let me go.”

“You’re acting like one, though.” Martin says. He drags his fingers through Jon’s slit and Jon’s sure they come back wet. Come back sloppy. “You’re such a slut. I bet anyone could get you bent over like this.”

Something slides inside Jon - probably only a single finger, but he can’t really tell - and he clenches down on it instinctively. That doesn’t stop it from thrusting. It doesn’t listen to the signals of what his body wants it to do.

“No, I-” Jon chokes on a moan as Martin adds a second finger. “I don’t do this. Not with just anyone. Please stop.”

“Hmm…” Martin pretends to contemplate as he thrusts his fingers within Jon’s body. “I don’t think I shall. And look how wet you’re getting. You’re enjoying this so much.”

“I’m not!” Jon cries. Then “Oh, God,” with a gentle sigh when Martin adds a third finger. Martin is honestly stretching him out a little fast, but a bit of a sting pairs well with a scene like this.

“Don’t lie to me.” Martin says. “I can see and feel just how much you like this. How much I’m making you like this. But if you really want me to stop fingering you, I will.”

“Please.” Says Jon. “Please stop.”

“Alright then.” Martin says, and he pulls his fingers out of and away from Jon’s cunt. “Time to stick something else into you instead.”

“No. No please don’t!” He cries. Jon tries to wriggle free (even if, in reality, that isn’t what he actually wants), but Martin’s grip on him is too strong. It’s hard to breathe in this position - not impossible, just uncomfortable, and that gives Jon even less of an upper hand.

He feels Martin prod at his entrance. It’s clearly harder to get the angle and spot right when Martin’s focussed on stopping Jon from breaking free. Then he gets it right and is sliding inside, far deeper than his fingers were able to reach. The stretch aches, but it’s a good sort of pain, a reminder of how much Martin has to give him.

Jon moans like he’s in misery. “Why are you making me do this?” He asks.

“Because you deserve it.” Martin says. “You take cock like you were made for it. You say you’re not a whore, but maybe I should start renting you out and we’ll see exactly how much your cock-hungry cunt can take.”

Martin drives into him and Jon whimpers. His hands scrabble, clenching into the fabric of his shirt. That’s all they can reach. The agonising drag of Martin inside him is perfect, but also not enough and it’s not like he can get his own hands upon himself like this.

“Do you like that idea, slut?” Martin continues. “A whole crowd of men watching as they rail you one by one, wondering if you’ll be too fucked out by the time it’s their turn. I suppose if there are more than you could take, we could just hold you down until everyone’s had their fill of your cunt. You’re only fit to be used.”

That, frankly, sounds terrifying. And incredibly arousing. A pity it’s probably just hot air blowing from Martin’s mouth in the heat of the moment. They’ve never talked about whether Martin is the type to share.

Jon can be, but mostly, these days, he just fantasises about being watched. Nothing to unpack there...

“Please.” Jon says. “Please, I need…”

“What?” Martin asks. 

“Touch me.”

He doesn’t tell Martin where, but as Martin’s free hand skates around Jon’s body to press fingers onto his clit, it’s pretty obvious Martin knows exactly what Jon wants. Jon gasps as Martin rubs at him.

“So the greedy whore wants to come, does he?” Martin says.

“Please. Please I’m so close.” Jon says.

“It’s alright.” Martin tells him. “You can come.”

A couple more swipes of Martin’s thumb over his clit and Jon does come, crashing over the edge. If he were standing now, if he was holding any of himself up instead of just flopping over the arm of the chair in the position Martin has forced him into, Jon would just collapse. As it is, there’s nowhere he can go, nowhere he can move to.

Martin doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up on his relentless thrusting inside of Jon or take his hand away from where it’s pressed into Jon’s clit. He fucks Jon right through the pleasure and into the pain at the other side of the orgasm. Jon’s feet scrabble at the floor, but he can only just reach the carpet with his toes.

“God, no. Please stop. It _hurts_. Stop!” He whimpers.

Martin doesn’t. Afterall, Jon would safeword if this were actually too much for him.

“You can take it.” Martin says, and his fingers press into Jon’s clit, sending sparks of pleasure and pain shooting through his body.

“I can’t!” Jon cries. “It hurts so bad. Please-”

Martin shushes him. “You can take it. I can feel the way your cunt tightens each time I prod your clit. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you.”

“Yes, but-”

“No buts.” Martin says. “You like me fucking you, don’t you? You like my cock stretching out your cunt, because you’re a dirty slut.”

“Yes.” Jon whispers, even as humiliation burns in him.

“What was that?” Martin asks. “I didn’t hear it.”

“Yes!” Jon cries. “Yes, I’m a dirty slut who likes your cock.”

It’s a good thing that Martin is behind him, because Jon’s cheeks feel like they might be on fire. Gods above and below, he might just do anything for this man, no matter how embarrassing. Cheesy dirty talk is nowhere near the extent of the lines he would cross for Martin.

“Good boy.” Martin says, and the words make Jon clench down around him. “Oh, that was a big one. Do you think you might come again? You might have to be quick about it though.”

“Please.” Jon says. Then, because he knows Martin will make him say it: “Please make me come.”

“So greedy.” Martin says, but he stops teasing at Jon’s clit, takes him between two fingers instead and properly starts jerking him off.

Jon would be screaming if any noise came out of his mouth. It doesn’t though, so when he comes he just does so sounding strangled, his mouth open and his chest heaving as much as it can in a binder and pushed into the arm of the chair. Behind him, Martin curses, and he’s pulling out before Jon’s orgasm is over, leaving him feeling empty and clenching around nothing.

Seconds later, he feels the droplets of Martin’s come hit his asscheeks.

Martin’s lips come down warm and wet on the side of Jon’s neck. He suspects Martin would kiss him properly if he had half of a chance at reaching Jon’s lips. Then there’s a few moments where Martin’s just leant over him, panting, each breath a cool wave on the wet mark on the side of Jon’s neck. Jon thinks he’s breathing hard too, but it mostly translates into feeling slightly dizzy.

Then the pressure over his back and on his hands is gone. Jon gives it a few seconds before he tries to move, in case this newfound freedom is a cruel trick on Martin’s part. But when he stands up straight moments later, Martin doesn’t try to stop him.

His lower back gives a nasty twinge. It’s definitely going to be sore later. Jon rubs at it absent-mindedly, then grimaces when his hand comes across cooling come.

“Oh!” Martin says, and he reaches for a conveniently placed box of tissues. “Let me just…”

Martin wipes up the mess he left on Jon. Jon takes the box of tissues from him and uses a couple to wipe up the worst of the slick between his legs. Not as good as a wet wipe or an actual washcloth, but it will do.

“Was that okay?” Jon asks as he bends to pull his trousers up from around his ankles. “I know I sprung it on you mostly out of nowhere.”

“It was intense, but I liked it.” Martin answers. “And we did talk a little about it before… well. Are you alright? You said you were okay with me being a little rough, so...”

Jon grimaces and Martin makes a worried face. “My back might be a little sore later.” He says. “Mentally, I think I’m in an okay place, but I wouldn’t say no to a little aftercare.”

“Cuddles on the couch, then?” Martin asks with a grin, and Jon nods. “You said you wanted to talk more about the whole forced sex thing after, are you still up for that?”

“I am, if you’d like to.” Jon sits on the couch, waiting for Martin to be ready.

“Sure, just let me get a couple of things first - do you want a drink?” Martin asks.

Jon nods, knowing he’s getting tea unless he specifies something different. Martin walks over to the kitchen and sets the kettle to boil. While he waits for the water to heat, he wanders into the bedroom and comes back with the blanket that’s usually on the foot of the bed, which he drapes over Jon’s shoulders ceremoniously.

“Should I get you some painkillers for your back?” Martin asks.

“That would be nice.” Jon says, and Martin dutifully heads off to the bathroom. He comes back with a foil tray of ibuprofen, and pops two of them out into Jon’s waiting hand.

“Let me just get you something to wash those down with.” Martin says, heading back into the kitchen to brew the tea and bring the mugs through.

Jon tosses both pills into his mouth and crunches down, which makes Martin start. “I don’t think you’re supposed to chew those!” He squeaks.

“Too late.” Jon swallows, finding the taste bitter and unpleasant. He never learns.

Martin comes back from the kitchen carrying two mugs and Jon removes their old, empty ones from the coasters on the coffee table to make room for the ones Martin is carrying. They go down with a gentle clack. It will be a few minutes until they’re fully brewed and cool enough to drink.

Martin sits down beside Jon on the sofa, close enough that their legs are pressed together. Jon has the dignity not to outright crawl into Martin’s lap, but he does twine his arms around the other man and lay his head on Martin’s shoulder.

“Okay then,” Martin says, “Let’s talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Please do not chew ibuprofen (advil, brufen, motrin, nurofen)! Not a doctor/nurse, but I do know a lot about drug formulations. Ibuprofen tablets have a coating on them that stop them from being digested in the stomach as they are better absorbed further downstream and are known to cause stomach ulcers.  
> -That being said, Jon's inevitable stomach ulcer will have several other contributing factors.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW:  
> -Martin and Jon discuss the forced sex scene they just acted out, which includes some discussion of why Jon (and Martin!) likes it.  
> -Martin brings up the possibility of himself subbing for a forced sex scene based on their early working relationship (not this fic, but it's on my planning document...).  
> -Negotiation for a better planned consensual non-consent scene in which they would be acting as strangers. Martin asks if he should be 'surprised' that Jon is trans, which Jon agrees with, so long as him being trans isn't taken as negative.  
> -Jon also suggest the scene include him saying he does not enjoy vaginal penetration, and Martin working to convince him otherwise.  
> -There is also sex in this chapter which involves edging.

“First off, I liked what we just did.” Jon says. He has his head laid upon Martin’s shoulder, the cotton beneath his cheek soft from being washed many times, although there’s now a number of pinhead-sized holes around the stretched out collar. It will need to be beyond ruined before Martin considers throwing it away.

“I liked it too.” Martin says. “More than I thought I would.”

“Do you, uh, _get_ what I want out of a scene like that one?” Jon asks.

“Mostly, I think?” Martin replies. “Do you want me to run down why I think it’s something you want?”

“Sure. If it helps.”

“You like restraints, but more than that you like to struggle. You’re into humiliation, and I think having to do whatever I make you do plays into that a lot. So does the dirty talk.” Martin says. “You don’t mind acting out, but that’s mostly tied in with you struggling or the scenario we’re playing. You’re into mild pain and impact play, but mostly as a punishment instead of pain for pain’s sake.”

“Mostly, I like a framework where I can explore my sexual desires without feeling guilty for having them.” Jon says.

“Yeah.” Martin says, and he kisses the top of Jon’s head. “That’s a good thing to have”. His exhale rustles the hair on Jon’s scalp. “What parts of the scene we just did did you like?”

And which parts are never to be repeated? But Martin doesn’t ask that. Hasn’t run for the hills yet either. He’s awfully accommodating like that.

“I liked you manhandling me and holding me down,” Jon says, “although we could use actual restraints in a better planned scene.”

“You could also wear something more disposable.” Martin adds. “You said last time you were interested in me destroying your clothing?”

“Yes, that’s very… well, _yes_.” Jon says. “I also liked the things you said to me. The way you demeaned me, and how you made me admit I liked it.”

Martins makes a soft whining noise and Jon looks up to see him wince. “Oh, I thought that was something you’re into?” Jon says.

“I liked it.” Martin says eventually, sounding like he’s choosing his words carefully. “It’s just the things I said came out in the heat of the moment without me really thinking about them and now I’m cringing at some of the things I said. I wasn’t exactly PC.”

“It’s a rape roleplay, Martin, how is it ever going to be PC?” Jon says. “I don’t mind what you said. I know you aren’t voicing actual thoughts and opinions about me you have outside of the scene.”

“True.” Martin says. “It was also nice to have confirmation that you were enjoying it. I think I needed that by the end.”

Jon thinks it over. Admitting that he was enjoying it, that he wanted to come, within the framework of the scene didn’t feel like giving in. It felt like something was being let free.

“The part where I end up enjoying it is important to the scene. To me.” Jon says. “It’s one of the major things that sets it apart from actually being raped.”

You don’t end up begging your rapist for more.

There’s silence for a moment, the mood on the brink of turning sour.

“While I enjoyed it and I wouldn’t mind doing it again, I don’t think it’s something I can initiate.” Martin says. “I’m fine with you asking for it, or, uh, us sitting down and planning a scene that’s not entirely consensual. But I don’t like the idea of you going along with it because you think that’s what I want. And I don’t want this fantasy to come up when I’m in the mood for sex and you’re not.”

“I get that, and I agree. Besides, safewords exist for reasons like that.” Jon says. “The fantasy itself doesn’t work when you’re being, well, _you_. It’s not a fantasy of my boyfriend deciding to rape me, but more of a made up scenario where someone else, a stranger, makes me have sex with them.”

Unrealistic scenarios mostly - a policeman who will arrest Jon if he can't have him, a security guard who caught him shoplifting but will let him go in exchange for sexual favours, a home invasion where the robber decides the thing he wants to take most is Jon.

“Also, while I don’t have the, uh, _background_ stuff that makes this fetish appealing to you, I’m not entirely averse to the idea of switching roles, and I do like to sub sometimes. That is, if you’re willing.” Martin rambles on a little. “I mean, the first time I was attracted to you, you were my boss, and then later you were my boss but with weird powers that can make me do and say things. And it’s not like you’re physically stronger than me, but there’s a power imbalance there if you’re ever interested. It’s not top of the list of the things I want to do with you, but I’ve definitely thought about it before and, uh, _yeah…_ ”

“Roleplaying our early working relationship with a twist that would give HR an aneurysm?”

The way he treated Martin when they first started working together? Thinking about that is still fit to send Jon’s stomach twisting itself into knots. (But a _dog?_ And on Martin’s first day) But he supposes it’s far from an uncommon fantasy, the asshole boss making their employee do unreasonable things. Sexual things.

It isn’t like he treats Martin badly any longer. Even if he sometimes needs reminding that his notes are not to be used as an exercise in creative writing.

“Yes.” Replies Martin.

“That sounds good. I think I could get behind it if we discussed exactly what you wanted me to do. Put it down as a solid ‘maybe’ for both of us and we’ll come back to it another day?” Jon asks.

“Sure.” Martin replies. “Is there something else you wanted to do now?”

“I’d like to plan a scene.” Jon says. “Of the ilk we’ve been discussing, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Okay.” Martin says. “From start to finish then.”

That’s the way they normally do these things. That’s the most sensible way to do these things, but…

There was something thrilling, something intoxicating about Martin calling the shots and Jon not knowing exactly where the scene would go next. Something intensely arousing about the spontaneity of it, of Jon being able to be surprised by Martin’s actions.

“Actually, I was hoping to leave some of the finer details to you and the heat of the moment.” Jon says. “You’ve just shown yourself to be very apt at improvisation.”

“How solidly do you want to plan this, then?” Martin asks. “I don’t feel comfortable with a carde blanche. Not for this, or at least not for the first time we plan a forced sex scene.”

“The framework, at least.” Jon says. “And a list of sorts of things I am comfortable with you doing to me. But which things you actually do to me and in what order are up to you. I liked not knowing what you were going to do next, the anticipation kept me on edge.”

“So you want to be surprised?” Martin asks.

“I think that’s about it.” Jon replies. “I’m not handing you blanket consent to try whatever you want, everything you do to me in the scene needs to be something we’ve discussed at some point or another. But it’s your choice whether you tie me up, and how and what toys you use on me, so long as they’re all things we’ve used several times before.”

“So what else is in this fantasy of yours?” Martin asks.

“I like the idea of being kidnapped - again, not tied to anything that’s actually happened to me. This part of the fantasy predates Jon the Archivist.” Jon says, adding an aside just before he can see Martin is going to ask about it. “It’s a fun idea as a fantasy, but pulling it off in real life without possible intervention from the public or the police is all but impossible.”

“So ideally we need to do everything in the apartment.” Martin says.

“While the idea of you chasing me around outside until you catch me is appealing, we do really need to stay indoors, so we need a narrative that fits with that. But also involves you holding me against my will. Or something similar.”

“What if you accidentally came into the wrong flat, and after I confront you about it, I decide not to let you go?”

Oh. Oh that’s…

Jon feels heat rise in his cheeks and somewhere much lower than that too.

“I like that idea.” Jon says. “Plus, I could come in with shopping and have a bag of stuff ready for aftercare - some snacks and drinks, maybe a few painkillers just in case. I’m probably going to need some serious aftercare, so having something ready like that might be useful.”

“Add lube and condoms to the shopping list.” Martin says. “I can find those in the bag and tell you that you wouldn’t have bought them if you weren’t planning on using them.”

The shock that sends through Jon is definitely arousal. Jon curses internally - he’s just come three times. He shouldn’t be turned on again already.

“Sure. I can literally go and buy this beforehand and give you time to prep the flat as you like.” Jon says.

“So we’re strangers in this scenario?” Martin asks.

“Yes.” Jon replies. Martin has that look on his face where he’s not sure if he should say whatever it is he’s thinking about. “Out with it!” Demands Jon.

“If we’re strangers, should I be surprised to find out that you’re trans?”

“So long as you don’t act disappointed about it.” Jon says after considering it. “It makes more sense than just glossing over the fact.”

It’s not that Jon doesn’t like the idea - he’s thrilled at it really - he just doesn’t want him being trans to be something negative in light of the scene. Martin did tell him once, on a night steeped too long in wine and spirits, that he never pegged Jon as trans until Jon made some offhand comments about it and accidentally outed himself to his assistants. At the time he’d thought they already knew.

Martin did tell him that his crush on Jon developed long before he knew much about Jon’s identity, that he spent several months thinking Jon was straight and even longer thinking he was cis and had a confusing few weeks where he had to rewrite some of his favourite fantasies about Jon.

“You could never disappoint me.” Martin shakes his head, shakes out the cobwebs of whatever thoughts he was having. 

The thought comes into Jon’s head unbidden. “I could pretend I don’t like penetration in the front and you decide to show me better?”

It’s a good premise. Something to protest and say no to. Something Jon knows he actually enjoys, even if a lot of other trans men don’t. It’s not like every single trans person has the same relationship with their bodies as he does. And it’s a scenario in which Martin makes him like it, which is an integral part of the scene.

“I can get on board with that, if it’s what you want.” Martin says. “So, other things you’re okay with me doing. Restraints? Or maybe ropes?”

“I think tape is the sort of aesthetic to go for here. We’ve got leftover duct tape from moving we could use, right?”

“Is duct tape safe to use on skin?” Martin asks. Jon shrugs. Martin doesn’t look sure either. “Let me look it up.”

(Jon could Know it. Could just reach and grab the overripe fruit from the heavily-laden branches of the Tree of Knowledge. He tries not to do that much anymore, even if his mouth waters for the fresh taste of new information across his tongue.)

Martin gets his phone out to google it. Jon watches him search through a couple of pages, mostly articles on BDSM, but Martin doesn’t give an answer.

“What does it say?” Jon asks.

“Some sites say yes, others say no. Most recommend using bondage tape instead.” Martin clicks on another site and scans through it. “Basically, duct tape is fine if it isn’t going directly on your skin. Different brands and batches of duct tape have different strengths of adhesives, and it can take off skin when you remove it. On the other hand, bondage tape only sticks to itself.”

“That certainly sounds safer.” Jon says. He doesn’t really fancy having skin and hair ripped away when the tape comes off, supernatural healing be damned.

“It’s a bit more expensive, but I think it’s worth it - and oh look, it comes in silver!” Martin shows Jon a page selling rolls of bondage tape for £7.99 each, “The aesthetic is still there. That solves the whole restraints thing. Are you still okay with me destroying your clothes?”

“Everything but my binder.” Jon says. “Although good luck trying to rip one with your hands. I’ll let you know on the day how I feel about getting my chest out.”

It will likely be fine unless the dysphoria is hellish that day (which admittedly it sometimes is). But the whole point of this scene is to produce something that doesn’t exactly prioritise Jon being comfortable, even if it is all negotiated first. That doesn’t stop there from being boundaries. If he’s not okay with having his chest out, then his binder won’t be coming off.

But Martin taking his binder off, tying Jon’s hands behind his back, and holding him down so that Jon can’t squirm away while he plays with Jon’s tits? That’s a different sort of feeling. That’s the sort of thing that’s got Jon shifting his weight from one leg to the other as if that will help the wet heat between them.

“Oh, Jon, do you need to use the loo? You’re squirming there.” Martin says.

“No, no. It’s, um…”

“Jon?” Martin prompts.

“My body apparently didn’t get the message that our earlier scene ended. I’m still raring to go here and our choice of subject matter for this talk isn’t exactly helping.” Jon admits.

“I don’t mind if you want to touch yourself.” Martin says. “Or we could always postpone our negotiation for another time.” He snorts. “Bloody typical of you though. You’re not horny most days, but when you are you want to come half a dozen times. It’s like you’re making up for lost time, but with orgasms.”

“Oh, do be quiet! I don’t want to put off the negotiation again,” Jon says, “and it’s not exactly good kink etiquette to shove a hand into your underwear when you’re planning a scene.”

“You’d better behave yourself then.” Martin uses that voice, the soft smooth one that makes Jon want to follow his every command. It isn’t working today, because hearing it just makes Jon want to touch himself more.

Jon hands, resting comfortably an inch above his knees beforehand, creep up his thighs. He knows Martin is watching him.

Martin grabs Jon around the waist, and the blanket falls from Jon’s shoulders as his boyfriend pulls him into his lap. Martin situates Jon so that his back is up against the soft protrusion of Martin’s belly. Sat like this, they’re almost the same height.

Martin catches Jon’s hands - one, two - and intertwines their fingers, before resting their combined hands halfway up Jon’s thighs.

“It seems you might need a little helping hand.” Martin says. “If you can manage to sit still without letting go of my hands, I’ll help you get off once the scene is planned. Okay?”

Jon squirms in Martin’s lap, tries to grind down on the legs below him. He can’t get the angle he needs with his knees together like this, so he spreads his legs and leans forward to grind down and relieve some of that awful tension.

The relief is short-lived.

“Sit still, Jon.” Martin says. “You can be a good boy for me, can’t you? I’m not going to ask you again.”

Jon’s legs snap together. “Yes.” He says, even though his cunt is aching.

“Okay.” Martin says. “What else - how rough are you okay with me getting?”

“Threatening violence is okay, but I’m not into heavy pain.” Jon says. “Spanking is fine, as usual, and I wouldn’t mind trying a paddle or crop. No blood, so I’d rather avoid knives. Uh… Slapping or hitting me is fine too, just not hard enough to bruise.”

“On the face, or just the body?” Martin asks.

“Either, but be gentle with my face - enough to sting, but not to cut my cheek open on my teeth. General roughness is more the aim - pushing me over and forcing me to the floor. Things like that should work nicely”

Martin’s hands tighten over his. “Is that alright by you?” Jon asks.

“I’m a little worried about hurting you, to be honest.” Martin says.

“You don’t have to hit me if you don’t want to.” Jon says. “I’m just making suggestions, it’s your choice whether to include them in the scene, and you can safeword too if you’re uncomfortable - I might start crying during, for instance, and I know that could distress you.”

“I might try it. We’ve done some impact play before. But if I don’t like it, I won’t continue. Is that okay?”

“Of course it is!” Jon says. “This is negotiation - you get to bring things up too. Planning a scene isn’t just me telling you what I want and expecting you to go along with all of it.”

“Alright. ‘Kay. Some subs can be a bit...” Martin takes a deep breath. “Never mind. You’re not like that. How do you feel about me telling you I’ll let you go if you do things, but I keep going back on my word?”

“What do you mean?” Jon asks.

“I tell you that I’ll let you go if you kiss me, but after you do it, I decide not to and come up with something else.” Martin says. “Like, just touch my cock and you can leave, but after that I try to make you put it in your mouth and so on.”

“I can go along with that.” Jon says. “Don’t tell me anymore, though, I want to be surprised by what you make me do.”

“Are you still okay with me coming inside you?” Martin asks.

“I think so.” Jon says.

Contrary to what Martin has experienced, Jon can handle it when someone comes inside him. Especially when he knows it’s going to happen. Yes, there are few times when a full-on creampie in his cunt is what Jon wants, but this is one of those times.

“You really need to be sure, otherwise I’m not going to do it.”

“Then yes. I’m still going to find it humiliating and embarrassing, but gross doesn’t really set in until after the scene is over, and I can wash it out pretty quick if I’m expecting it.” Jon says. “Besides, there’s no risk you’re going to get me pregnant now. Although, uh, if you wanted to pretend there was…”

“It’s not too humiliating for me to threaten to get you pregnant? Is humiliating the right word?” Martin asks. “I don’t know why, but that sounds _very hot_ is all. It’s not that I actually want to get you pregnant and I know we haven’t talked about children or anything, but saying ‘I’m going to fuck you pregnant’ or something like that is what I want to-”

“Ok. Slow down. Firstly, you can carry them because I want to keep my figure.” That makes Martin splutter and Jon waits for him to take a couple of deep breaths. “ Secondly, I like the idea. I like most things that humiliate me, like when you call me names. So telling me things like that, or putting me in humiliating positions and taking photos. Those are things I’d really like.”

“You want me to take photos of you?” Martin says softly.

“If you want.” Jon says, and the heat in his cheeks almost matching the heat between his legs.

“Would I get to keep them after?” Martin asks. “For, uh, r-reasons…”

“If you want.” Jon repeats, certain he’s about to implode from embarrassment.

The reasons Martin mentions. Jon knows what those are. Although the opposite doesn’t appeal to him - just a picture of Martin, even an explicit one, isn’t going to turn him on. But the idea of Martin getting off to a picture he has of Jon? That makes Jon feel warm too, although it’s not his libido talking this time. It’s something a lot purer than that, despite where it comes from.

“Anything else to add?” Martin asks.

“I don’t think so, apart from when we’re going to do it. You?”

“It all sounds good to me. We’ll need to wait until we’ve got some bondage tape, but I think that buying some can wait until after you’ve got off - that is if you still want to? You’ve been very good and still.”

“I want to.” Jon sighs. 

“Go ahead.” Martin says.

This time Martin doesn’t stop him as his legs spread open and he grinds down. Rocking back and forth sends pleasant tingles through him, but it isn’t enough. Martin still has their hands clasped together atop Jon’s thighs.

“Are you going to give me my hands back?” Jon asks.

“Hmm…” Replies Martin. “I thought about it, but no.”

Jon shifts over so that he’s got one of Martin’s thighs more firmly slotted between his. He can grind down now, get that sweet ache, but it isn’t nearly enough. He could come like this, probably, but it wouldn’t be quick or easy.

Martin’s lips find his neck, then his shoulder. The suggestion of teeth becomes a tangible reality and Martin bites down. He keeps it light enough to avoid breaking skin, and doesn’t add the sucking pressure needed to properly mark up Jon, but it still gets him to sob in want.

“Please.” Jon says. “Please, I need more.”

“I’m feeling generous.” Martin says before licking over the bite marks he’s left on the column of Jon’s neck. “You can have your hands, or you can have my hands, or you can sit here without touching yourself while I fetch some toys from the bedroom, since it’s going to be hours until I’m in any state to get inside you, but in that case you’re really going to have to earn your orgasm.”

“The last one.” Jon says. “You mean edging me?”

“Yes, Jon.” Martin says.

“That one.” Jon says. His hips roll down desperately. “I want that one.”

While he trusts Martin to be able to make him come with just his hands, and Jon knows he can finger himself into oblivion, toys and delayed gratification will give him the stronger, harder orgasm he’s looking for.

Martin lets go of his hands, slides his palms beneath Jon’s legs to encourage him to get up. Jon stands, and Martin follows.

“I’ll be back in a bit.” He says. “Take your clothes off and wait. Remember, you aren’t allowed to touch yourself.”

Jon nods, but he waits until Martin is heading to the bedroom before he starts stripping. Jon slides his trousers and boxers off as one, and pulls his shirt over his head. The neck is loose and easy to get his head through. His binder is significantly harder to get off, but he’s used to it and the wretched fabric gives in to his struggles pretty quickly. Then there’s not a stitch on him. He never bothered to put his socks back on after they slipped off during the wrestling match. They’re still crumpled in the centre of the room.

He takes the time to fold his clothes and place them on the coffee table, for something to do with his hands if nothing else. If his hands have a task to do it distracts him from how badly he wants to feel fingers pressed inside him. Or against his clit.

Martin is taking longer in the bedroom than strictly necessary, probably stretching out whatever he’s doing in there just to torture Jon. Jon, meanwhile, sits back down on the sofa, avoiding pressing his legs together too much in case Martin decides that counts as touching himself. He hopes he’s not making a mark on the fabric.

It seems like an eternity to wait. He sits tensely, unsure if Martin is ever coming out. Jon’s just about concluded that he hallucinated a whole boyfriend and archival assistant when he hears Martin’s footsteps. He’s carrying the little basket on the nightstand they sometimes use to store toys in when they’re using them in a scene. Jon can’t see what’s in it - there’s a little lid over the top. He could Know the contents, if he wanted to, but he chooses not to, chases the knowledge out of his mind before it can take root. There are occasions when it is better not to know. 

“Oh,” he says when he sees Jon sat nude on the sofa. “I didn’t expect you to strip completely down. I can find you one of my big t-shirts to wear if you like?”

“I’m fine.” Jon says.

“You look a little uncomfortable.”

“It sounds silly, but I wasn’t sure you were coming back.” Jon says. “But I’m not uncomfortable like this. I’m having a good day bodywise today.”

“Okay. Let me know if that changes.” Martin says. “Come sit on my lap again.”

Martin sits down in the same spot as before - the side of the sofa Jon’s come to think of as Martin’s side, although he’ll sometimes use an armchair instead. The basket goes down beside him, far enough back on the seat that it will be out of Jon’s view when he sits down (or should be. Sometimes Jon’s range of vision spins out and he can see things that are definitely behind him. It doesn’t happen that much. Not when he’s not trying to do it.) Jon perches down on top of him, arse over Martin’s knees, but Martin curls an arm about his waist and pulls Jon firmly in.

“I was going to order you not to touch yourself, but I brought out some cuffs if that would be easier?”

“Please.” Says Jon, not because he doesn’t trust himself, but because the restraints will ensure he can’t and thus provide a sense of relief.

“Lean forwards a little.” Martin tells him.

Jon does as is asked of him, and Martin tips to the side to get the cuffs out from the basket. The joint in Jon’s left shoulder pops as he pulls his hands behind him and offers his wrists to Martin.

The cuffs go on, the leather cold and snug around his wrists. There’s a little clack of metal on metal as Martin attaches the two separate pieces together. The position sets his shoulders back a little, forces him to sit with his chest out. It’s okay, so long as he doesn’t look down, and there’s nothing showing a clear reflection of his body on the opposite side of the room.

“Colour?” Martin asks.

“Green.” Jon replies. “I’m comfortable.”

Martin’s hands trail lightly up his arms. Jon does his best not to squirm, but it does tickle a little. He rubs gently at Jon’s shoulders and neck before curving his arms around Jon.

“Can I touch you here?” Martin asks. His fingers are splayed out over the top of Jon’s ribs, but his touch is close enough to Jon’s chest for him to know what Martin really means.

“Yes.” Jon replies.

Martin’s hands slide to cup his breasts and Jon winces. He put his binder on after breakfast before work and forgot to take a break from it at lunch. He’s not sure what the exact hours are beyond ‘too many.’

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Martin checks.

“Just a little tender. I was binding for too long today. Again.” Jon replies. Then, before Martin can ask “Yes, massaging them will help.”

Martin doesn’t triple check, just kneads gently at Jon’s chest. Jon closes his eyes, tips his head back and sighs at the sensation. He’s got more than a handful for Martin to play with, so Martin’s hands don’t just stay still in their squeezing, but instead move around a make note of every inch of his chest, as if he really was giving Jon a proper massage instead of using this as an invitation to an extended grope. It does drive some of the ache and tenderness out of his breasts, so Jon will give it that.

Each squeeze also makes something lower than his stomach squirm pleasantly, especially when Martin’s palms rub against his nipples, so it’s got that going for it. There’s already a thigh lodged nicely between his to grind down on. When Martin doesn’t stop him after the first time, Jon does it again, aware that he’s probably giving Martin’s trousers a little wet streak.

His hips jerk when Martin abandons the pretense of a massage to just pinch at his nipples. Jon soon finds his hips rolling in time to each tug Martin makes on his nipples. He manages not to moan, although his breathing can’t be called exactly steady, hitching with every pinch.

Apparently bored with that, Martin’s hands slide down Jon’s body. One wraps around his waist, but the other travels further south until his fingertips just curl under Jon’s body, spread to the left and right of where Jon wants them.

“Scoot over a bit so that I can get my hands on you.” Martin says.

Jon obliges, even though it means he loses the pressure of Martin’s thigh to rock upon. It doesn’t matter - very soon he’ll be given a helping hand, although Martin still hasn’t moved to touch him.

“Please touch me.” Jon whines, trying to rock down on Martin’s hand. It doesn’t work well.

“In a moment, dear. I wanted to know if you’re definitely alright with me edging you?”

“I-” Jon thinks for a moment. He’s going to love hating it. “Yes. Do it.”

Martin’s fingers skate over his clit, already erect and poking out from between his lips, and Jon wails. Two of Martin’s fingers dip into his slit, and Martin coats them in the slick oozing from Jon’s entrance before sliding them either side of Jon’s engorged cock and starting to properly jerk him off.

The hand around Jon’s waist stops him from properly shifting as his hips jerk. The muscles in his thighs quiver and tense, but Martin knows his body’s reactions well enough now to tell that Jon isn’t yet on the brink of coming, so he doesn’t stop his touches.

A tongue, warm and wet, curls over the shell of Jon’s ear. Then Martin dips down a bit to nibble at his earlobe. It’s honestly not the most sensitive part of his body, but Jon can forgive Martin for trying, because the fingers on his clit are truly wonderful.

After a few minutes, Jon’s breaths go harsh. His hips are twitching, twisting on Martin’s lap. He doesn’t have time to warn Martin that he’s about to come, but Martin can read him well and pulls his hand away just before Jon can cross the peak he was aiming for.

Martin waits a few moments, waits until Jon’s breaths are a little less desperate and his body isn’t thrumming like a live wire. “Colour?” He asks.

“Green.” Jon says. “You don’t need to ask that every time.”

“I thought I’d check the first time after I stopped you from coming, just in case you didn’t like it.”

“I like it.” Jon says. “Or well, it’s not that I like it, but more that I know it’s going to be very intense when you do let me come, and I don’t think I have more than a couple of orgasms left in me tonight.”

“Okay.” Martin says, and he kisses the part of Jon’s cheek he can reach. It barely registers, because Martin’s fingers slide back down at the same time.

This time he skirts around Jon’s clit and rubs around Jon’s entrance. He dips in lightly, a single finger to the first knuckle, which he just leaves there, even as Jon rolls his hips to encourage Martin deeper. When he whines, Martin just laughs and withdraws altogether.

“Please, Martin.” Jon whispers.

“What do you want, love?” Martin asks with amusement, because he damn well knows the answer.

“Your fingers.” Jon says. “Please put your fingers inside me.”

Martin’s hand drifts back, rubs up and down his vulva, not quite high enough to catch Jon’s clit, and not with enough pressure to breach him when they brush over his entrance. Jon’s breath hitches, but it’s still not enough.

“I brought you something that might be nicer than my fingers, but we need to make sure you’re stretched out a bit first so that it doesn’t hurt going in.”

In. That rounds down the toys it could be, but not by a huge amount. Between them, they’ve amassed quite a collection of dildos and vibrators. The basket Martin brought out with him isn’t huge though, so it can’t be one of those monstrously large cocks Martin likes that Jon struggles to take.

Martin pushes a finger in, all the way this time. He must feel that Jon is still stretched from earlier, because he slides that digit out and two come in on the next thrust. The soft gasp Jon makes is mostly lost under the slick squelching coming from his cunt. 

Martin fingers him leisurely, a gentle slide in and out of his body. Two fingers becomes three, but it isn’t much of a stretch. He’s all sloppy-loose from being fucked earlier. Martin’s fingers drag inside Jon’s cunt like he’s looking for something, and when Jon tenses because Martin has just hooked his fingers into his G-spot, he knows he’s found it.

He strokes over it, focussing only on that little spot within Jon. For his part, Jon winds tighter and tighter like a clockwork toy, but just before he’s got to the place where he’s wound enough to be released, Martin’s fingers slip from him.

Jon sobs, but Martin just strokes at his thighs. “You’re doing so well for me.” He says. “Still feeling good? Colour?”

“Green.” Jon replies. “I’m a little cold though.”

He’s totally naked and Martin is fully dressed. Jon can’t help but read into that. It’s clear in this situation who’s in charge and who just has to take what he’s given.

Martin picks up the discarded blanket he brought through from their bedroom and drapes it over Jon’s shoulders. It’s not real clothing, so Jon decides this still counts as being naked. It falls over his shoulders and arms, but it’s not big enough to cover Jon’s legs, or to cover up where he needs Martin to touch him.

Martin doesn’t go back to touching him immediately though. Instead, he leans over and opens the basket up. Jon cranes his neck to see the item that’s been removed. A rabbit vibe. Okay. Martin’s not going to have any trouble getting him off with that.

There’s lube in the basket too, and Martin takes a moment to apply some to the toy, as it’s probably more reliable than the local source that can be found between Jon’s legs. Most of that is busy soaking into Martin’s trousers.

Martin wastes no time with preamble or teasing Jon. He slides the toy in. Then out again and thrusts it a few times for good measure. This isn’t the sort of toy intended for lots of thrusting though, it’s more of an ‘in-then-on’ sort of thing.

The attachment at the front has two little ears with a separate motor purely for clitoral stimulation. Jon supposes that your clit is supposed to sit between those little projections, but he has too much bottom growth to have a hope of that ever happening.

The main motor gets switched on and the shaft of the toy buzzes to life. Jon can feel the end of it gyrate and circle his G-spot. He knows what it looks like - he’s seen the toy on when it wasn’t inside him and if he wasn’t already used to coming on the thing he wouldn’t be able to believe that movements that powerful could be pleasurable instead of painful. The vibrations are a mere echo in the part of the toy that’s sitting directly on his clit. He needs more. It’s not enough to come.

As if reading his mind, Martin presses the button to fire up the rabbit attachment and presses it into his clit.

Jon wails and Martin has to tighten his grip on Jon’s waist to stop him from toppling over. He starts to moan and doesn’t stop, the sounds getting louder and rising in pitch the closer he gets, until Jon’s right on the brink of coming and Martin slides the toy out of him before he can find completion.

Martin gives him a few moments to quiver and shake and bite back his curses. Jon hears both of the motors click off, but then the toy is being slid back into him. The ears of the rabbit brush against his clit with every upstroke.

“Please, Martin, please.” Jon begs. His voice sounds reedy.

“Be patient, love.” Martin says, but he sets the clitoral attachment to vibrate again.

He only gets to feel it each time Martin slides the vibrator deep inside of him, and he never holds it there for long, instead in favour of thrusting the toy in and out of Jon’s body. It doesn’t matter. Jon’s already on edge.

“Can I come this time? Please Martin.” Jon says. His hands are clenched into fists behind his back.

Martin doesn’t reply, but he does increase the intensity of the vibrations. Jon keens, and in response Martin finally (finally!) presses the vibe into his clit and holds it there.

Jon’s hips buck up into it. “Oh God, I’m going to- Martin!”

But again, before he can cross that bridge, his orgasm is snatched away. Martin’s hands rub up and down his thighs as he tries to recover from being so close and having it snatched away.

“Are you okay?” Martin asks. “You’re crying.”

Jon’s face does feel wet. Frustration, most likely. “You’d be crying too if someone tortured you like this.”

“Do you want to stop?”

“God no.” Jon shakes his head.

Martin fills him again. This time he doesn’t bother thrusting the toy, just turns both motors on and flicks them to a setting where they pulse. It’s never been Jon’s favourite, he’s always preferred constant vibrations, but that doesn’t matter right now.

He builds quickly to another orgasm he’s not sure Martin will let him have. Jon is tensing up, twisting off of Martin’s lap when he gives his next warning of imminent release. “I’m going to come, please let me come!”

The vibrations click off and the toy is still inside him. Martin doesn’t bother to slide it out. Jon holds himself back from toppling over the edge, because this game isn’t fun if he doesn’t play the rules. He could have come then, but Martin clearly didn’t intend for that. He doesn’t seem the type to leave Jon with a ruined orgasm, clenching around a motionless toy.

It’s a good job his hands are bound behind him right now, because if Jon had any way of reaching, there’s no way he wouldn't be rubbing himself off by this point, damn whatever punishment Martin could come up with for it.

“Are you even going to tell me when I’m going to get to come?” Jon asks.

“I haven’t decided yet, but each time you ask about coming, it gets further away. I get to choose when it will be, not you.” Martin replies. “But do keep telling me when you’re about to come. It makes it so much easier to work out when to stop touching you.

Jon groans in exasperation, but it pitches off into a whine as Martin rubs at his clit. Then the hand is gone again, but it’s only to turn on those motors.

It’s taking less and less to bring him up to the precipice each time. Jon’s hips shift and cant, and Martin pulls the toy from him again right before he topples. The process repeats itself several times, until Jon’s chest is heaving with the sobs of having this stolen from him.

He can barely string together the words to beg Martin to let him come. He can’t manage much more than moaning as a signal that he’s about to come. It builds to a crescendo again. “M-Martin!” Is all he is able to get out in warning.

Martin puts his hand on the base of the toy and presses it more firmly against Jon. He screams as he comes, neighbours be damned. The edges of his vision turn white, then the whole lot of it goes black.

He comes back to find Martin untying his wrists. Probably only been seconds then. “Hey there. How are you?” Martin says.

“I feel good. I don’t think I’ve ever come harder in my life.” Jon replies. “I actually blacked out.” God does his voice sound hoarse.

Martin beams. “You did so well and I love you very much.”

“Ass.” Says Jon, but he’s blushing.

“C’mon, let’s get you in the shower.” Martin says, but when Jon stands it’s on shaking legs which buckle when he tries to take a step. Martin steps in to catch Jon before he falls. He still looks proud of himself. Asshole. “On second thoughts, I might draw you a bath.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Whether or not duct tape is safe to use on skin varies a little depending on your source. Different brands of tape have different strengths of adhesive, and as a general rule it will hurt coming off. It is possible to use in BDSM if not placed directly on skin e.g. if you are taping over clothes, or if a layer of plastic wrap goes down first. Bondage tape is a much safer alternative.  
> 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW:  
> -The consensual non-consent scene planned in the previous chapter is played out.  
> -Martin intimidates and hits Jon several times in this chapter, however it is all part of the scene.  
> -As discussed in the previous chapter, Martin is 'surprised' but the fact Jon is trans, and Jon claims he does not enjoy vaginal penetration (although that is not actually the case).  
> -Martin takes photos throughout the scene.  
> -A dildo heavily implied to resemble a non-human penis is used.  
> -Jon gets into a headspace where he should safeword out of any chest play, but (wrongly) decides not to because he does not think the scene prioritises his comfort. Martin notices Jon's discomfort and tells Jon he will leave his chest alone.

It’s been a pretty long day, but at least the bags of shopping Jon’s carrying aren’t too heavy. The elevator is right there, yes, but so are the stairs and he’s been making good on his promise to lead a slightly more active lifestyle. And it’s not as if he lives on the top floor or anything.

He is, perhaps, a little red-faced when he reaches his floor, but Jon’s sure his boyfriend won’t mind. He’s already home - must be because the door is already unlocked (and they’ve talked about that). Jon enters and makes his way to the kitchen.

He’s just put the bags down on the counter ready to be unloaded, when someone steps into the doorway. Someone tall and imposing and broad enough that it would be hard for Jon to slip through the doorway past him.

“Who are you, and what are you doing in here?”

(It’s Martin, and Martin knows who Jon is and exactly what they’re planning next. But the point of the scene is to pretend they’re strangers and Jon came into the wrong apartment. His Martin is somewhere else.)

“I’m Jon, and I-” He pauses for a moment and pretends to look around, as if only just noticing he isn’t in his own home. “I think I have the wrong floor.”

“Well I’m Martin and this is my home.” He moves in closer to Jon, and Jon steps back until he can feel the counter top pressing into him.

“So sorry, must have climbed to the wrong floor. Long day, you understand? The floor plans of these flats are all the same - did you know that?” Jon says, holding his hands out in apology. “My bad, I’ll just be going now. No harm done.”

Martin appears to take little notice. He crowds Jon up against the counter and rifles through the bags. “Let’s see what you brought me… Huh, it seems someone has a sweet tooth! And what are these?” He lifts a bottle of lube and a box of condoms from the bag. “Someone is a little presumptuous, aren’t they?”

“That’s not for you! My boyfriend asked me to get some. He said we were low.” Jon mumbles. He doesn’t look Martin in the eye.

“Your boyfriend? No, no, I think you got these just for me.” Martin says. “But I’ve got plenty of lube, and I don’t think we need condoms, now do we?”

“I will be leaving now!” Jon says with force, and he tries to push Martin away. Predictably, Martin doesn’t move.

What he does do is grab both of Jon’s arms. “Oh no,” he says, “you can’t go. It looks like I got a home delivery of food and entertainment.”

This time, Jon tries a lot harder to get away, ducking under Martin’s arm as he makes a break for it. He almost manages it, too, is almost past Martin and home free. But Martin uses his own momentum against him, tucks his feet under Jon’s legs and sends him sprawling to the floor. 

Jon catches himself on his arms and manages to roll over onto his back. The ceiling above is greased stained, and Martin towers over him. He plants his sock-clad foot on Jon’s cheek and presses him into the floor.

“Do what I want you to do and I won’t have to hurt you bad, you understand?” Martin says. His tone is serious. Gone is the lightly mocking voice he was using before.

He can’t nod with Martin’s foot on him, and when it goes, it’s because Martin is turning away to open one of the kitchen drawers. Jon could get up, could try to escape, but the thought doesn’t occur until it’s too late. He doubts he’d get far anyway.

Martin turns around with a roll of tape and a pair of scissors in his hands. (It looks like duct tape, but it’s the bodage tape they bought for the occasion. They tried a little strip of it on Jon - around a finger - when it arrived - to test it out and check for allergies. Disappointingly, it’s too thin and wrinkles too easily to be properly reusable like everywhere seems to claim that bondage tape is. That’s probably what they get for searching for the best deal on the stuff. Good thing they bought several rolls which are now scattered around the flat.)

Seeing Martin coming, Jon scrambles back, propped up on his arms but not yet trying to stand. The sharp slap Martin delivers sends him back onto the floor, (although some of that is played up - Martin only hit him hard enough for a bit of a sting,) only, for his efforts, Jon is now halfway into the hallway.

“You shouldn’t have tried that.” Martin says, dropping to his knees which straddle either side of Jon’s hips.

Martin grabs Jon’s wrists roughly. Jon tries to pull away, but even with one hand, Martin’s grip on him is too firm, and that makes his cunt clench down, empty and aching. Martin comes at him with the tape, wraps several layers over Jon’s wrists before sitting back to see his handiwork.

Jon pulls at the silver tape around his wrists, but it doesn’t budge. Martin smirks down at him.

Martin scoots back and grabs at Jon’s legs before he can have the idea to kick at him. He tugs the cuff of Jon’s trousers up until there’s a big enough strip of bare skin for him to wrap tape around. Then he stands up, stands over Jon, immobilised on the floor.

“If you don’t cooperate with this next bit, I’m going to have to drag you to the bedroom.” He says. “You won’t be quite as pretty with carpet burn, but that won’t stop me from fucking you.”

Jon lets himself go lax and limp. Martin picks him up with apparent ease, throws him over his left shoulder.

“There we go. You can be good for me.” Martin says.

“I’m pretty sure that hand doesn’t need to be on my arse.” Jon says.

Martin gropes the flesh under his fingers. Jon can’t see his grin, but he knows it’s there. “I beg to differ.”

Martin is mindful of the doorframes as he carries Jon into the bedroom. (Jon isn’t meant to get hurt in this scene, or at least too badly. It’s also why he isn’t giving so much as a token of resistance right now - the fall from this height with his hands and legs bound would likely end in a painful injury. Better to be carried along as inanimate as a rolled up carpet.)

Jon is tossed on the bed like a sack of potatoes. “Stay there.” Martin tells him, as if he has any choice.

On the nightstand is another roll of tape and a pair of scissors, these ones with blunted ends and the blades at a strange angle, to be more suited to sliding beneath tape or rope and cutting it away. The basket they use to store toys for scenes like this is also there, but Jon can only guess what’s inside it (after all, his instructions to Martin were ‘surprise me’). Martin walks around the bed to the nightstand and picks up the scissors.

“Are you ready to behave yourself?” Martin asks.

Jon makes an attempt to spit at him, makes an attempt to wiggle his way to the edge of the bed. He is successful in neither. His spit lands on his cheek. It feels very cool against his heated skin.

“Oh pet, you shouldn’t have done that.” Martin says. “I’m not going to be able to untie you now. I can’t trust you.”

“Fuck you!” Jon says.

“Oh, I intend to.” Martin replies. “I do have a dilemma about how to get your clothes off without untying you though.” He snaps the scissors open and closed a couple of times. “I guess I will be using these then.”

“Don’t you - No!” Jon shouts, but Martin has already slid the blades of the scissors to make a snip in the front of the cuff of his trousers. He makes a matching one on the other leg.

Jon’s clothes are cheap today - the lowest price that could be found on the highstreet. If he remembers correctly, the trousers were two pounds, and his plain shirt was less even than that. Needless to say, the quality of the garments are lacking and they fit him terribly. It tracks then, that once Martin got the cut started with the scissors, he’s able to tear through the fabric like it’s tissue paper.

Martin makes a long rip up the front of each leg. Not entirely straight, mind, but close enough. He has to put in a token bit of effort at the waistband, but as Jon stares up at him with wide eyes even that yields under brute force. He rips the tattered remains of the garment from Jon’s body. 

“Oh.” Martin says. “I was expecting more of a lump, so either your prick is miniscule, or-”

Martin reaches for the front of Jon’s briefs, and Jon squeezes his legs together as best as possible. “No, don’t!” He cries, but it tails into a whimper as Martin’s fingers dig in between his legs. His clit isn’t really hard yet, but it will be soon if Martin keeps pushing on it like that.

“You pass very well.” Martin says, and Jon screws his eyes hard as Martin rubs at him. “I was hoping to watch your pretty cock bob as I fucked you, but this might be even better.” His hand slides lower, his fingers push against the tacky spot against Jon’s entrance. “Look, you’re already getting wet for me.”

“Please stop, I don’t like it.” Jon whispers like a prayer.

“Don’t lie to me.” Martin says as he shifts to rub back at Jon’s clit. Jon’s hips twitch at the touch, trying to get more of it. “You keep bucking up into my hand though. You wouldn’t do that if it didn't feel good. Does it feel good?”

_Yes, yes it does._

“I don’t want it.” Jon says instead. His hips twist in betrayal as he keeps trying to press himself into that lovely hand.

“Okay, okay. I bet I could make you beg if I did this for long enough though.” Jon has no doubt that’s true, but Martin does remove his hand. It leaves Jon’s cunt feeling empty and throbbing.

Martin reaches over him, reaches for the basket again and Jon’s heart pounds as he tries to predict what he’ll come back with. A vibrator, perhaps? Or maybe a paddle to beat him into submission? He doesn’t expect the phone that Martin pulls out.

“Colour?” Martin asks. “If I take some photos during the scene.”

“Green.” Jon says, licking dry lips. “Just let me go through them after so I can delete anything awful.”

Martin nods, then they’re back and immersed.

Martin hooks his hand under one of Jon’s knees and hoists him up. Then he encourages Jon’s legs to bend and Jon can’t stop his thighs from falling open. With his spare hand, Martin raises the camera and lines it up between Jon’s thighs.

“What are you doing? Stop!” He says.

“I need to catalogue every piece of you. I don’t want to forget a thing.” Martin says. “If you want to know, that one shows a big wet spot right below your cunt, and there’s a little bump where your clit is standing up on its own. I can show you later, if you want to see how much your body likes what I’m doing to it.”

Jon tries to picture it. How much slick has leaked from his cunt? How much darker is the fabric for it? Is he wet enough yet that the fabric is sticking to every little crevice, laying out the topography of his most intimate parts?

“Why are you doing this?”

“So that I can remember everything.” Martin says. “I want to know how wet I got you in ten, twent, forty years.”

_Oh_. Jon’s toes curl. “Please don’t do this.” He whispers. He wonders if there’s even any fight left in him now. There was barely any to begin with. God, he’s such a whore. Martin won’t have a hard time convincing him he wants this. That he deserves this.

Martin ignores him. He runs a gentle finger over the bottom hem of Jon’s T-shirt. “Now what do you suppose I’ll find under here?”

He lifts the bottom of Jon’s shirt and carefully places the scissors so that they don’t knick the binder beneath. As with his trousers, Martin tears his shirt into tatters and pulls it away from his body. Then he puts the scissors down on the bed for later.

Martin’s fingers dip under the edge of his binder.

(This is the difficult bit. Jon had to show Martin how he normally struggles out of his binder, which was, well, _not great_. They haven’t practiced this bit, but in theory it’s a bit easier for Martin to get Jon out of it because he’s not removing a binder from himself. Time to see if that theory pans out.)

Jon brings his arms down to stop Martin from taking it off, and immediately Martin is asking for his colour in concern.

“Green.” Jon replies.

Martin grabs Jon’s bound wrists and slams them into the mattress above his head. “You keep those things there, or I’m cutting off your binder. And don’t think I don’t know how expensive a good binder is.” 

Jon swallows and nods.

Martin gets his fingers on the bottom of it and starts pulling the binder up towards Jon’s head, turning it inside out as it goes. It’s a little more difficult to pull the back panel up than the front, but Martin still manages. The pressure lifts from his chest as it comes off, then it gets dark as Martin pulls it over his head.

He’ll have to cut the tape on Martin’s wrists to get it off entirely, Jon realises, but it turns out not to get to that. Martin lifts it high enough that it’s off his face and he can breathe, but he leaves the binder thoroughly tangled around Jon’s head and arms.

“Oh, aren’t those a sight.” Martin says.

“Don’t.” Jon says.

“But they’re so pretty!” Martin says. “I just want to touch them.”

He does. Martin’s hands cup Jon’s breasts, bring them together as he scopes out the weight and curve of them. Jon tries to thrash, tries to throw him off, but it’s impossible with his feet tied and his hands tangled above his head.

“Hey now.” Martin’s hands press his shoulders into the mattress. Jon tries not to moan, but his breath still hitches. “Sit pretty while I touch your tits and I’ll let you go once I’m done, okay?”

(And Jon knows this is a promise that will be broken. Martin isn’t going to stop with just a little fondling.)

“Okay. Okay.” Jon says. He tries to relax. Tries to let the tension bleed out of him, but that’s so difficult when he’s waiting for Martin to touch him.

Martin’s hands come back to cup him, this time pushing his breasts up and together like he’s trying to work out just how much cleavage Jon would have in a bra. Then he lets them drop again, lets them separate to the sides of Jon’s chest. His fingertips stroke lightly across the natural curve before Martin grabs a handful of each breast and begins to squeeze and knead them.

“You know, these are probably the best tits I’ve ever been able to play with.” Martin says.

“Small sample size?” Jon spits.

“Shush, you.” Martin says. “They’re nice and soft and so bouncy. You love it when I play with your tits, don’t you?”

“No, I-”

Martin strokes gently, so very gently, over his nipples, and Jon moans. Can’t help it when it sends such a big rush of wet heat through his cunt.

“Look at how hard your nipples are. You’re loving this.” Martin says. Jon tries to protest, but his chest is pushing itself up into Martin’s hands without any input from his brain. “You’re such a slut. You’d let anyone do this to you, wouldn’t you? Even a complete stranger like me.”

Jon closes his eyes. “No. No, you’re forcing me to do this.”

He hears the camera app on Martin’s phone make the shutter noise as he takes more photos.

“Would I have to, really?” Martin says. “I think you’re just a slut for this.”

“I don’t want this, I-”

Martin flicks his nipple and Jon whimpers. If his underwear hadn’t already been soaked through, it would be by now. Martin grabs his nipple and twists, just to the point where there are tears in Jon’s eyes.

“Go on.” Martin says. “Say it. Say ‘I’m a slut’ and I’ll stop.”

“I-I’m a slut.” Jon whispers.

“What was that?” Martin asks. “I couldn’t hear it.”

“I’m a slut!” Jon cries. “I’m a slut who likes it when you play with his tits.”

“Good boy.” Martin says, and he releases Jon’s nipple from where it was pinched between his fingers. It stings as the blood rushes back in.

Martin lays a couple of light slaps across Jon’s chest before he shuffles up Jon’s body. From this position, Jon can see the prominent bulge in the front of Martin’s joggers. A few more inches forwards and it would be rubbing on his face. Jon hopes he’ll come close enough for that, but he doesn’t.

The blade of the scissors is cool as Martin slides it under the tape at Jon’s wrists and cuts him free. Martin tugs Jon’s binder off his arms and tosses it off the bed. Then there’s an awful screech as he pulls a new length of tape from the roll and binds Jon’s hands tight again.

“You said you’d let me go!” Jon cries.

“I said I’d let you go once I’m done.” Martin says. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“Please. No more.” The desperate tone of Jon’s voice is a little put on, but the way his chest is heaving really isn’t.

“You don’t like this?” Martin asks.

“No.” Says Jon. Lies Jon.

Martin reaches down between their bodies and slides his hand under the waistband of Jon’s briefs. Slides lower than that, until there’s a fingertip gliding down his slit. Jon tries to close his legs around the intrusion.

“If you don’t like it, how come you’re so wet?” Martin says.

“I’m not. I’m not.” Jon cries.

“You are.” Martin says. He sinks a finger into Jon. In and in and in. “Your body is telling me how much you want me.”

Martin crooks his finger and Jon’s body spasms, his hips lifting from the mattress. There’s a sick squelching sound and Martin moves his finger in and out of Jon’s body. Jon lets tears prickle at the corner of his eyes.

“Stop! Please stop. I don’t like it in the front!” Jon cries.

Martin adds another finger. With his legs pressed together like this, it’s almost painful to take. Squirming is clearly not enough to keep Martin’s fingers out of him, but Jon tries anyway, until Martin pins his hips down. His cunt clenches down pathetically at that, but there’s no way to move against Martin’s fingers now.

“But look how well you’re taking my fingers.” Martin punctuates with a particularly vicious twist of his digits. “I should teach you how to like it.”

“I won’t.” Jon says. “You can’t make me.”

“Oh, but I can.” Martin answers, and he presses down on Jon’s clit so that he’s moaning and clenching on Martin’s fingers. “Your boyfriend doesn’t treat you right, does he? He doesn’t know what a cock-hungry bitch you are, does he?”

“I. Don’t. Like. It.” Jon spits, but the angry act is broken when Martin drags his fingers down Jon’s walls, and his face softens and melts into a groan.

“Liar.”

A third finger prods at his entrance, shoves its way in. It’s a tight fit - Martin can probably feel that - and it stings on the wrong side of being painful. Someone is breathing harsh and shallow, and with a start, Jon realises that it’s him.

“No, it hurts! Please stop.” Jon says. His cheeks feel wet (but thankfully Martin appears unfazed by this).

“That’s because you keep blocking access to your cunt.” Martin says. He removes his hand from Jon’s underwear. “But we can rectify that.”

Jon watches as Martin once again reaches for the basket. This time he comes back with two pairs of cuffs, each linked by a long length of chain. Jon has a pretty good idea of the use they’ll be put to, and sure enough Martin’s next step is to pick up the scissors and slice through the tape at his ankles.

He kicks (aims deliberately for a patch of unoccupied space so that he doesn’t actually hit Martin), and Martin catches Jon’s ankles and delivers a harsh blow on the inside of his right thigh as a punishment. Jon bites at his lip.

“Behave.” Martin says.

The cuffs go around one ankle, then the other. Martin attaches Jon’s legs to the opposite sides of the foot of the bed. The chains between each ankle and the bedframe are long enough to afford him some movement but Jon tries and sure enough-

“That’s right, pretty, you can’t close your legs now.”

“No.” Jon says as he sees Martin come for his underwear with the scissors. “God no, please stop.” He closes his eyes and turns his head to the side like a child who believes things are only real if you can see them.

The metal of the scissor blades is cool against his thigh, but Martin stops just before making the first snip. “Maybe I’ll just use your mouth instead.” Martin says. “Would you like that, slut?”

“No!”

“Would you rather have me in your cunt?” Martin asks.

“No.” Says Jon, softly.

“Perfect then, pet.” Martin says. He runs his fingers over Jon’s lips. Jon can taste himself on those fingers.

Martin’s weight leaves him and Jon watches as he stands. He only really needs to pull his cock out for this, but Jon watches as Martin chooses to strip instead. His chest is broad and thatched with gingery hair, his thighs are thick and strong, and between them his cock is thick and erect.

“Like what you see?” Martin asks as he gives himself a couple of strokes. “All of this is going into one of your holes.”

Martin climbs back onto the bed and atop Jon. He straddles Jon’s shoulders, pinning his arms to his body. There’s no escape from the cock that presses to his tightly sealed lips. Jon can still smell him, thick and musky.

“Open up, pet, and remember that if you hurt me, I’ll hurt you twice as bad.”

Jon still doesn’t open his mouth, so Martin slaps him. It’s just hard enough to get Jon to gasp, and Martin pushes his way inside while Jon’s mouth is open in shock.

The taste of him is thick and heavy. Not wholly unpleasant (and thankfully, not unwashed), but not comfortable either. The weight of Martin on his tongue is familiar. They’re not in a position when Jon can do much except let Martin fuck his mouth. Jon gives up on attempting any sucking after a few moments and instead just tries to keep his jaw loose enough that Martin isn’t at any risk of bumping into his teeth.

Jon lifts his tongue so that Martin’s shaft rubs along it with each stroke, which he seems appreciative of from the way he swears and pulls at Jon’s hair. Martin uses his grip to reangle Jon’s head so that he can slide deeper into his mouth.

Martin isn’t feeding Jon his entire cock - that wouldn’t be possible without some deepthroating and that’s not something they’ve successfully managed yet, although the times they’ve attempted it have pretty much destroyed Jon’s gag reflex. But with this new angle he can push all the way to the back of Jon’s mouth. It’s a little uncomfortable to be honest. There’s drool leaking from the corners of his mouth and Jon’s eyes tingle with tears that will not remain unshed for long if Martin keeps this up.

It’s through bleary eyes he watches Martin raise his phone again for more photographs.

“Look at the camera, dear.” Martin says, and Jon looks up to hear the shutter sound click. “You do look lovely stuffed with my cock.”

Jon can’t reply. Can’t really do anything but take what Martin feeds him.

Martin pushes in, deep as he can without actually slipping into Jon’s throat. Jon chokes on it, feels liquid leak from his eyes and nose and mouth. He does his best to suck, but there’s not much he can do but swallow around the end of Martin’s cock until Martin decides to move again.

The camera noise comes again. “Oh, that’s a nice one. I think I’ll send this to all of my friends. Maybe one of them will offer to take you off my hands once I’m done with you.”

Jon groans around Martin’s cock and Martin shudders at the sensation. The idea of being passed around and used until everyone is satisfied, even as Jon protests he can’t take anymore... Well, it’s a little hard to organise, but it’s nice to have fantasies.

Martin pulls out of his mouth and Jon is left gasping for breath. His throat feels raw and his tongue is both too heavy and oversensitive.

“Oh, you like that idea.” Martin says.

“No, I-” Jon snaps his mouth shut as he sees Martin guide his cock towards Jon’s lips. Instead, his cockhead brushes tacky against the firm line of Jon’s pressed lips.

“You do, don’t you. Dirty whore, never satisfied with just one man.” Martin says. “Well, my pretty, I’ll do my best to satisfy you.”

Jon gives Martin his best big pleading eyes. There’s no way he’s going to open his mouth again with Martin’s cock right there unless Martin makes him. But it seems that’s not what Martin is going for, because he slides back down Jon’s body and picks up the scissors as he goes.

“I could just make a hole in these,” Martin presses the blunt tip of the scissors over the damp spot that shows where Jon’s cunt is, “just enough for access, but I think I want to see you bare.”

“Don’t, please-” Jon says, but Martin has already begun to make strategic cuts.

“Besides,” Martin says as he puts down the scissors and begins to tear the undergarment apart with his hands, “you’ve been so good for me so far. I think you deserve a reward.”

“No, I-” Martin’s got this satisfied smile on as he stares down at Jon’s cunt. He slips two fingers into Jon even as he cries out “stop it, stop it please!”

“You don’t think you deserve a reward?” Martin asks, although Jon’s a little distracted by the way Martin’s fingers thrust to really process the question. “Don’t you want to come?”

“No! Stop. You can’t-” Jon says.

“I can’t?” Martin asks incredulously. “I can’t make you come? I think you’ll find I can. Well let’s see which of us is right, shall we?”

He feeds a third finger into Jon, who takes it easily this time. It doesn’t do that much for Jon, but the way Martin’s thumb starts rubbing at his clit really does. He keeps up that steady rhythm of swipes and strokes even as Jon bucks his hips up into it.

Martin doesn’t bother thrusting his fingers in and out of Jon’s body, he just leaves them moving gently inside Jon. With every minute that passes, Jon’s moans grow in volume.

“Sure you’re not going to come from this?” Martin teases.

“I’m not.” Jon says. “I’m not you can’t make - _oh God_.”

He’s on the brink. He knows that, even as he denies Martin. He can feel his thighs shake as he holds himself back from the edge, but Martin keeps on pushing him, and with a shout he tumbles over the edge.

“You’re a liar,” Martin says after Jon is most of the way through the aftershocks, “but you’re also devastatingly sexy, so I’ll forgive you.”

Jon lays there and pants as Martin once again reaches for the basket. God, what more can there be? What more is there to do than have Martin fill him?

He comes back with a toy, an orange and red thing that isn’t realistically shaped like a cock. Or, not a human one, at least. It’s a bit longer than Martin is, but not nearly as broad with its tapered head, save for the large knot midway down. The girth of the knot combined with the length of the toy means it’s not usually one Jon can take comfortably. But then again, this isn’t exactly meant to be comfortable for him.

Martin lays the toy over his hipbone and takes a photo of it. It strikes Jon that that’s a good way to show exactly how deep inside him that thing is going to go.

“You’re not getting that in me.” Jon says.

“You know, I don’t think you’re in a position to argue.” Martin retorts. He has lube, Jon realises, and is using it to slick up the toy. Thank God for that.

Martin prods at his entrance with the tip of the toy, circles it a few times before beginning to push it into him.

“Get it out of me!” Jon shouts, although Martin has already managed to feed several inches of it into him. He can’t feel the knot approaching yet, but he knows it’s coming.

“You can take it.” Martin tells him, and he pushes on the dildo and it slides into him until Jon can feel the beginning of the knot stretching out his entrance. Martin takes several photos of the process. “I know you can. We need to show your boyfriend just what your greedy cunt can take and what he’s missing.”

“It’s too big.” Jon says. “And I hate it.”

“Do you now?” Martin says. He lets go of the base of the toy and rolls the palm of his hand over Jon’s clit.

Jon moans. His voice is hoarse after having Martin’s cock shoved down his throat, but the raggard noise is still one of pleasure. He clenches down on the part of the toy already in him and feels his stretched out entrance flutter around the protrusion of the knot.

“I’m pretty sure I can get this in you.” Martin tells him. “In fact, if I can get this all the way in and you manage to come on it, I promise it will be the last thing inside you tonight.”

(When did Martin get so good at lying, Jon wonders? He wants to believe Martin, wants to sink and relax in the promises he makes with every intention of breaking them. They both know this scene doesn’t end until Martin has come inside Jon.)

“Colour?” Martin asks. “Sorry, I forgot to ask for a while.”

“Well how was I meant to answer with a mouthful of cock? But green.” Jon says. “I’ll try, no promises though. It’s pretty big.”

“Okay. Give me a yellow if you don’t think it will work.” Martin says.

They slip back into the scene. It’s not that Martin looks cruel, but there’s a different glint in his eyes and a pitch to his tone when he speaks. “What do you say, whore? Or have I fucked your brains out already?”

“Just get it over with.” Jon says.

“A little enthusiasm can’t hurt.” Martin says. He pushes on the end of the dildo, grinds it up into Jon, but it’s still not enough pressure to make the knot pop inside.

“I think it’s going to hurt no matter what.” Jon says through gritted teeth. Even if they weren’t roleplaying this as rape, it would take work to get something that big into Jon.

“You’ll take it though.” With his spare hand, Martin takes Jon’s clit between two fingers and starts tugging at it.

Jon’s head snaps back at the shockwave that sends through him. The steady pressure Martin puts upon the dildo pays off and he feels himself stretch wider and wider until his entrance is tight around the apex of the knot. Distantly, he hears the sound of a camera shutter. A little more pressure and the knot is fully seated inside him and Martin is pushing in the last couple of inches.

“I knew you could do it.” Martin says.

“I don’t want this.” Jon says

“Too bad.”

The toy isn’t really made for big thrusts with the knot being so huge, but Martin grabs the base and grinds and twists it within Jon. It hurts, and it’s almost overwhelming in its size, but that doesn’t stop it from feeling amazing inside him. His legs shake. There’s just enough slack in the chains running to each ankle that he can plant his feet flat on the bed and use it as leverage to grind up into the dildo.

Martin’s free hand grabs roughly at his breast, pinches at one nipple, then the other. Jon gasps. He cunt tightens around the toy, against the huge intrusion within it, but not hard enough to stop Martin from moving it. He tries to bring his arms down to cover his chest.

“No, no, don’t cover up your pretty tits.” Martin says. “I like watching them. If I fuck you hard enough like this-” Martin gives several rough thrusts with the dildo, the knot catching on his entrance, tugging on it but not quite popping out, “then they really bounce.”

“Stop, please!” Jon cries, even as Martin fondles him. Martin slaps at his chest a couple of times and Jon knows it’s to watch the way it moves. It doesn’t feel right, but that doesn’t stop it from feeling good.

“I think you’d look good in nipple clamps. You’d probably enjoy it too.” Martin says. “Or maybe we could go all the way and pierce your pretty tits. Whichever one it is, I should put bells on you so you can hear how much you jiggle.”

It’s hard to breathe, he can’t get the rise and fall of his chest to stay steady. Jon thinks he might be crying again, but he isn’t sure. His entire body feels shivery.

“Colour?” Martin asks. Jon thinks the expression on his face might be concerning to Martin, but he’s not entirely sure.

“I-” If they weren’t doing a non-con scene, Jon would have called a yellow on the chest play by now. He’s no longer exactly comfortable with it, but he is comfortable about being uncomfortable with it. The _not-good_ feelings slip in with the background of the scene. “I’m not sure? I don’t want to stop.”

Martin gives his breast a little squeeze and Jon grimaces.

“Yeah, I think I’m going to leave your chest alone for now.” Martin says. There’s a wash of relief over Jon, both that it will stop and that he isn't the one who had to choose to stop it. Jon can trust Martin with the control he’s been granted.

“Okay.” Jon says as Martin moves his hand to his hip.

After a little moment where everything is still, Martin resumes the grinding rhythm he was using on the dildo. He starts to pull it out, until Jon’s lips are stretched around the wide girth of the knot. He runs the thumb of his spare hand around Jon’s taut entrance, gathering the slick and lube that’s dripping out of him.

Then he pushes the dildo back in and Jon’s pretty sure he can hear himself scream as Martin fucks him relentlessly with the toy.

That wet thumb comes up to rub over his clit. “Oh God. God no, I. _Fuck!_ ”

“Are you going to come, Jon?” Martin asks. “Going to come like a filthy whore?”

“No! Fuck… _Ahhhhhh_.” Martin strokes over his clit a couple more times, and that’s it. He’s gone. He shudders through it, boneless and too full and yet utterly blissful.

Martin takes a moment to stroke up and down Jon’s inner thighs while he comes down from it. It isn’t intense, but it still makes him tingle. When he determines, by some inscrutable parameter, that Jon is ready, he grabs hold of the end of the dildo again, and Jon braces for whatever is coming next.

That happens to be Martin gently easing the dildo out of him. Or try to anyway. Jon feels his entrance tighten as the swell of the knot approaches. It’s too big - how did Martin even get it into him? Martin feels the resistance and stops tugging.

“Stop being a baby. If you got it in, it can come out again. Just relax.” Martin says.

“That’s easy for you to say.” Jon spits.

“Do you need help relaxing? I know just the thing - it helped me get it in.”

“No, I-” Martin is already rubbing over his clit in tight little circles. “Stop it!”

His protests fall upon deaf ears. Probably for the best, as they’re all lies. He can feel his cunt quiver around the toy shoved inside it. Martin begins to pull on it and Jon does his best to be wide and open. Jon finally feels his cunt yield and the dildo slips out inch by treacherous inch. Martin doesn’t stop rubbing his clit.

Jon feels stretched out. He can feel cool air on the inside of his cunt as it struggles to remember what shape it’s supposed to be when there’s nothing inside it. Jon isn’t sure. It’s been too long since he was empty.

“You’re gaping, love.” Martin runs a finger around the lax walls of his entrance and Jon moans. “Look at this sloppy hole, it’s just begging for someone to fuck it.”

Martin’s erection has flagged a little since he was in Jon’s mouth, but he brings it back to full hardness with just a couple of strokes. Then he moves his hips in close to Jon’s, angles his dick to that he can-

“No! No, you said you wouldn’t! Not if I let you-” Jon shouts.

“I changed my mind.” Martin says. “And your body is just begging me.”

“Then a condom, at least!”

Martin hums. “I think I’d rather feel you properly. And if nature takes its course, then you’d look good with a big belly too.” He says. “You’d never be able to get away from me then.”

Jon whimpers and raises his arms to try and push Martin away, ineffective as that is with them bound. He can’t really close his legs, not with Martin’s broad body between them, but he still squirms his hips in the best approximation of escape he can manage with his ankles tied to the bed.

Martin slaps him, just hard enough for it to snap something in Jon’s mind that leaves him dazed and blinking. Martin slips inside him while Jon tries to process the hit.

Martin may have just worked him over with a toy longer and wider than his cock is, but there’s nothing that really compares to the heat and weight of a flesh and blood penis. Nothing that compares with taking a part of another person inside of you or the press of their body up against yours.

“Please stop, please stop.” Jon says. He chants his protests in time to Martin’s thrusts. _No, no, gasp, no, no, gasp_ and so on. 

Martin reaches between their bodies and Jon’s chant is broken by a garbled cry as Martin rubs his clit. Then the pressure is gone, his fingertips absent, and Jon aches for the loss. He keeps touching Jon there, but not with any rhyme or rhythm that fits with his thrusting. Not in a way that will make it easy for Jon to come.

“Are you wet?” Martin asks.

“Yes.” Jon replies. There’s a veritable puddle beneath him.

“Does it feel good?” He asks.

“Yes. I- _oh God_.”

“Do you like what I’m doing to you?” Martin asks.

Oh. Oh this is where it’s going. Jon’s insides squirm, in a quite literal way from the reaction it gets from Martin.

“I do.” Jon replies.

“So do you really want me to stop?” He asks.

Jon closes his eyes. “No. No I don’t.”

“What should I do then, pet?” Martin asks.

“Fuck me. Please fuck me!” Jon cries.

Martin obliges, his thrusts coming quicker and harder and Jon’s arms aren’t even free to try and hang on for the ride. Martin, thankfully, doesn’t forget to keep touching Jon’s clit, because he isn’t being exactly consistent in hitting that spot inside Jon that makes him see stars. But it’s enough that it will take him over the edge again, and soon.

Jon’s hips are bucking into Martin’s thrusts of their own accord and his toes are curling when Martin asks “Are you going to come on my cock?”

“Yes.” Jon hisses. “Oh God, yes!”

“Do it,” Martin says, “come on my cock, slut.”

And Jon does. Harder than the times he did earlier this night. He manages some approximation of Martin’s name as he comes, and there’s an extra warm glow from the way Martin swears and grunts in response to the way Jon clenches down on him.

When Jon comes back from being swept away by sensation, Martin’s hips are stuttering. He sees the cogs turn in Martin’s mind as he moves to pull out on autopilot, then remembers that just this once, Jon asked him to come inside. He groans, but doesn’t bother pushing in as deep as he can (something Jon will probably be glad of later).

Jon can’t actually feel the semen shoot out of Martin’s dick, but he can feel the way it twitches inside him as Martin orgasms, and afterwards he’s certainly wetter. Jon tries his hardest not to think of why that is, but he supposes he did literally ask for this.

Martin pulls out of him. He looks pretty satisfied. Jon supposes he himself looks pretty wrecked.

“Okay?” Jon asks.

“Do you mind if I take a few more photos before I untie you?” Martin says.

“Sure, just make it quick?” Jon says. “Let me know if you want me to move.”

“Yeah, actually can you put your arms back up?”

Jon puts his arms back over his head, where they stayed for most of the scene when he wasn’t trying to fight off Martin. His boyfriend takes several photos he thinks encompass most of his body.

“Can I touch you?” Martin asks.

“Always.”

Martin places a hand lightly around Jon’s throat. “Is that okay?” He asks.

Jon can’t really nod. “You can press down a little.” He says. “I don’t mind.”

Martin takes a few photos where Jon suspects it looks like he’s being held down by the throat. Then that hand slides up and around his jaw. The fingertips brush lightly at his mouth and Jon lets them prize his lips open. He imagines what he must look like, dishevelled and tearstained with someone else’s fingers in his mouth. He closes his eyes and sucks at Martin’s fingertips.

He gets to bring his arms back down after that. The focus of Martin’s camera shifts decidedly lower. It passes over his chest, although Jon suspects Martin got a shot of his arms pushing his breasts together, resulting in an abundance of cleavage. He might have to have Martin delete that one. It’s not something Jon really wants there to be a record of.

When Martin brings the phone directly between his legs, Jon plants his feet on the mattress and lifts his hips to give Martin the best view possible. Martin swears, and Jon feels Martin spread his lips with his fingertips. His entire nether regions feel tacky with drying slick and lube.

Martin sighs.

“What?” Jon asks.

“I dunno, I was just hoping I’d see-”

“You wanted a creampie?”

Martin is very much red-faced, but he nods. “Yeah, I guess?”

“It’s still in there. I can push it out, I think?” It’s not like he’s planning to keep it in there. Quite the opposite, in fact. As soon as Martin unties him, Jon’s making steps to clean the spunk out of his cunt. Doing this will make that process quicker.

“What?”

“I do my kegels. I can push it out if you want photos?”

“Oh! Wait, really? Um, would you be okay if I filmed it?” Martin asks.

“Sure.” Jon says. Martin scoots back a bit to get a shot that’s more than just his cunt. “Are you ready?”

Jon waits for Martin’s nod, for the little beep his phone makes when it starts recording. Jon flexes a few times, just to get a feel for it, and Martin’s face is transfixed, watching Jon’s vulva twitch. He’s tired, to be honest, but Jon still thinks he can do this.

He lets out a deep breath slowly and works on pushing more than trying to pull something into his cunt. He knows it’s working, partially from the way Martin bites at his lip, but mostly from feeling the wetness slide out of him. He pushes again, feeling more slip out. Jon keeps going until he thinks he’s got most of it gathered in or just outside his entrance. It slips down towards his ass as it cools.

Martin’s breath isn’t steady. He holds the phone in one hand and reaches for Jon, slow enough that he can stop him. Martin pushes a single finger into Jon, not deep, just enough to hook out the come still oozing out of Jon’s entrance. Jon can’t help but moan.

Martin’s hand dips lower, swipes through the semen dripping down towards his arse and smears it across his skin. It’s honestly a little disgusting, but at least it’s pretty easy to clean up. The phone makes a little noise as Martin stops the recording.

“All good?” Martin asks.

“Yes.” Jon replies. “Can you untie me now?”

Martin undoes the cuffs at his ankles and Jon’s stood up before he can grab the scissors and snip through the tape at Jon’s wrists.

“Going somewhere?” Martin asks as he slides the blade under the tape and frees Jon.

“Sudden urge to take a quick shower.” Jon says. “I’m _fine_ , there’s no need for that face. I just want to get clean. You can come, but I’d rather you didn’t. I’ll be out in five for some aftercare, okay?”

“I’ll be here.” Martin says. “Anything in particular you want?”

“Some water. A blanket and some hugs.” Jon replies. “Oh, and can we go through the photos too? I’d like to see.”

“That sounds good.” Martin says.

Jon steps in closer to Martin. His thighs are slick with come and lube and other fluids, but he does his best not to grimace about it. He pecks Martin on the lips, and he startles.

“I don’t think we kissed once in scene.” Jon says.

“You might be right.” Martin says, and kisses Jon back. “I’ve got a quota to make up on now.”

He kisses Jon deeply, even dips him back some. Jon feels reassuringly safe in Martin’s arms and his tongue is warm and wet in Martin’s mouth. His hands tangle in the short hairs at Martin’s nape even as he pulls away from his lips.

“I love you, but you can make up your quota after I have my shower.” Jon says. “I’ll be back soon.”

“One more for the road?” Martin says, and Jon can’t help but lean in to meet him halfway. He only lets Martin have one last kiss, but he makes it long enough that Jon’s certain it’s got to count for at least two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for coming to my TED talk, join next time for some aftercare.
> 
> Note for those who skipped 'Wet and Wild':  
> -Jon is delivered an unexpected creampie in 'Wet and Wild' and proceeds to freak the fuck out in the shower about getting the come out of him. This is why Martin is concerned about Jon being suddenly desperate to shower.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW:  
> -Jon considers douching.  
> -The photos from the previous scene are viewed. While the scene was consensual non-consent, no mention of this is made during this chapter.  
> -Some discussion of asexuality, re Jon's opinion on pornographic material (which is that it can be visually interesting, but he tends not to find it titillating).  
> -Jon tells Martin he is happy with the photos/video being placed on the internet for others to view, but leaves the choice on whether to do this to Martin.  
> -Martin voices concern that he is not conventionally attractive in response to Jon saying he enjoys aesthetically pleasing things.

The uncomfortable stickiness that comes after sex is probably Jon’s least favourite part of it. It’s pretty unavoidable if he enjoys himself, though, and right now there’s evidence of both his and Martin’s enjoyment smeared all down the insides of his thighs. And across his arse. A probably in a few other places too. Eugh.

Jon ties his hair up - it’s been long enough for that for going on a year now. It doesn’t need washing, so best to keep it out of the way. He knows Martin won’t be able to keep his hands off it when he’s back out of the bathroom, and it always feels better to stroke when it’s dry.

He shifts his weight from one leg to the other while he waits for the shower to get up to a reasonable temperature. Once it is, he steps into the cubical and prepares himself to take the world’s shortest shower. The area most of interest is between his legs, so he unhooks the showerhead and turns it on himself. For all of half a second, that is, because the pressure is just too much and he scrambles for the shower controls to turn it down to something that isn’t painful.

When the water is acceptable again, Jon sluices off his thighs and the external portions of his genitals. Getting a finger into himself is pretty easy - while he might be a little sore and sensitive, he has just been stretched far beyond the diameter of a single finger. There’s a douche in the cabinet if he really feels he needs it, but there’s not much gunk left inside him and Jon tells himself he’s clean enough without it and using it will do more harm than good. Using one of those is always a toss-up between his mental health and maintaining healthy conditions inside himself. It isn’t worth it today, and if he tells himself that enough times he can believe it.

Jon washes the rest of himself with lightning speed. He uses soap, because he’s not an animal, but the purpose of this shower was more to wash bodily fluids off himself rather than to get properly clean, and the majority of said fluids are located in two places - between his thighs and on his face. Both get a good scrub.

Once he’s done and the shower’s off, Jon wraps himself in his towel. It’s still a little damp from this morning’s shower. He considers brushing his teeth, but decides gargling some mouthwash is sufficient to get rid of the taste of Martin’s cock in the back of his mouth. Proper oral hygiene can wait until before bed.

The clean underwear he brought in for himself is folded on the closed lid of the toilet. So is one of Martin’s T-shirts. Jon knows Martin likes to see him wear his clothes, but it’s a thing of comfort too. The T-shirts always carry a bit of Martin’s smell, and they’re softer than most of Jon’s clothes, too. The fact they’re over-sized and baggy on Jon’s frame helps too. There’s no way Jon’s going to try and squeeze himself back into a binder while still damp. Also, the bottle of baby powder has been almost empty for going on a week now.

Come colder weather, he might have to switch to stealing Martin’s jumpers instead.

When Jon opens the bathroom door, there’s a little pile of clothes there. Martin must not have seen that Jon remembered to take some in with him, and he knows Jon would want to be dressed again straight after. He picks up the pile and inspects it - another pair of briefs, a T-shirt (Martin’s, as expected), and a pair of joggers.

Jon hasn’t got the last one on, but he doesn’t really care. It’s warm enough without them and Martin will probably appreciate Jon having his legs out.

Martin is sat on the bed. It looks like he’s tidied away most of the paraphernalia from the scene, although the dildo is still out. It’ll need washing before being put away and they always use the bathroom sink instead of the kitchen one for sex toys. There’s a line crossed if you wash an item that’s been up an anus in the same place you wash your vegetables for dinner.

“Are you okay?” Martin asks.

“I’m fine.” Jon says.

He spots the glass of water Martin has got for him on the nightstand. Condensation is beading on the outside of the glass, so it must not just be from the tap. There’s a plate of sliced apple too, and a blanket folded neatly at the bottom of the bed. It’s too warm to really need that blanket, but Jon did ask for it earlier. Martin’s arms will more than suffice.

“Last time I came inside you, you got sort of in a way when you were in the shower is all.”

“Last time I wasn’t expecting it. I asked you for it, I’m okay, and I feel clean now.” Jon says.

“If you’re happy, then so am I.” Martin says. “What are you standing over there for? C’mere.” 

Martin makes room for Jon inside his arms and Jon curls up there. They’re up against the headboard. Martin has made something that almost resembles a nest out of the abundance of pillows he insists on sleeping with. Half of them tend to be on the floor come morning.

“I love you.” Jon says once he’s settled.

“I love you too.” Martin says, and he hands Jon the water.

He ends up drinking more of it than he expects. When he’s had his fill, he passes the glass, a third full, back to Martin and receives the plate of apple for his trouble. 

Jon isn’t the sort to always remember to get himself food - his body just puts hunger on the back burner when there’s something more interesting or more important to do - but he’ll eat almost absent-mindedly if something edible is placed in front of him. Martin’s good at making sure that happens. Often, that’s the only reason he ends up getting any lunch.

Starting T did help increase his appetite, but lack of hunger isn’t the real issue. Jon’s just got too good at ignoring it.

“Can we look at the photos now?” Jon asks.

“Sure.” Martin says, and he picks up his phone.

Jon frowns at the background Martin has on his phone. It’s a new one, replacing the photo of Jon petting a friendly cat they met on the street. It’s a picture of him, head pillowed on his arms asleep at his desk. God knows when it was taken (there has been more than one opportunity for it). Martin looks sheepish when Jon pulls a face, but neither of them say anything about it.

He supposes that if that’s really what Martin wants to see every time he picks up his phone, who is he to account for his boyfriend’s odd tastes?

Martin opens his photo gallery. The first picture there is the last one taken - Jon’s legs spread, his thighs bare and shiny with slick and lube. There’s come, some of it running down his legs, and some that Martin smeared across his labia, which are flushed and pink. It is, in all, horrifically explicit.

“Maybe we should start from the beginning.” Jon says.

“Uh, yeah.” Martin says. He’s biting his lip. That’s right - looking at things like this might actually arouse Martin. Jon forgets things like that sometimes. “I mean, they’re all kinda - you know. Lewd.”

Jon shrugs. It’s not like he can’t look at pornographic photos of himself. It won’t cause his head to explode. It’s just not going to get much sexual reaction from him.

To be fair, neither would a picture of anyone else. Even Martin.

Martin flicks through to the first photo he took this evening. The angle of it is remarkably similar to the final photo they were just looking at - a shot from between the legs, albeit this time he’s wearing briefs (and above that his shirt), and Martin’s hand is on his thigh, forcing them open.

You have to look closely to see the slight colour variation in the fabric where he’s soaked it through. The tautness of the fabric around where Jon’s clit is erect is a little less subtle, but Jon can appreciate the finer details in the shot. The more you look, the more you spot. Like Jon’s hands - blurry and out of focus in the top right corner, but the silver band of tape around them is obvious once you’ve spotted it.

“So, uh, can I keep it?” Martin asks. His finger is hovering over the delete icon. “You don’t have to let me keep all of them. Or any of them. In fact why don’t I just-”

“Don’t you like it?” Jon asks with a frown. He can appreciate the artistry in this photo, but knows Martin has other reasons for keeping them. Less wholesome reasons. He wants Martin to want to keep them though. There’s something intoxicating about being _wanted_ like that.

“Of course I like it!” Martin cries. “But if you don’t want me to keep it, then I won’t. I know you might find it creepy, me having these. So, yeah, say the word and they all go in the bin.”

“I don’t think it’s creepy.” Jon says. “I can’t say I see the appeal in quite the same way as you, but I think I know why you want them and that really doesn’t bother me or cross any boundaries. Move onto the next one?”

Martin flicks to the next one, then carries on as Jon nods after they both have a few seconds to contemplate each one. This little section is a series showing the various stages of Jon having his shirt cut off. There’s not much explicit about it because each tear just reveals more of his binder.

“Do you see any appeal in photos or images like these?” Martin asks.

“Sometimes,” Jon admits, “but it isn’t exactly sexual. I can appreciate pornographic material for the aesthetic, and understand it is intended to arouse or titillate, but I experience very little to that effect.”

“Do you still enjoy looking at it?” Martin asks.

“This is a little different, since it’s me in the pictures. “ Jon says. “But take a picture of a woman in some nice lingerie. It’s probably revealing, maybe outright explicit, depending on what it is and what she’s doing while wearing it. I know what the purpose of the picture is and that I probably shouldn’t look at it in public, but I appreciate the aesthetic more than anything else - maybe there’s lace with an interesting texture, maybe the underwear contrasts nicely with her skin. I don’t regard looking at a picture like that as much different than say a nicely decorated cake. It’s just ‘oh, that’s nice to look at’ and move on.”

“And you’re not interested in having sex with cake either.” Martin says.

“Not most of the time, no.” Jon deadpans. “Keep going through the photos.” He prompts, because Martin has stopped.

The next photo has Jon’s binder off, or at least halfway off, the black fabric tangled around his arms and head. There’s a few more like that, all in different stages of struggle. Jon can’t help but laugh at them.

“What?” Martin asks.

“Sorry, but you don’t know how many times something like that has happened by accident.” Jon says.

“A lot, I’m guessing?”

“It’s pretty easy to get stuck in a binder. Especially when you’ve only recently started wearing them.” Jon says.

“Do you want me to delete them?” Martin asks.

Jon takes a closer look. Yes, his chest is out, but it isn’t the focus of the shot, and unless he wants Martin to delete all the photos from hereon out, his chest is going to be on display in them. The lines of his body though - those are interesting. The way they show him stretching, the movement captured even in something still. Is it vain to consider a picture of himself to be interesting?

“They’re all fine.” Jon says, and Martin moves on to the next section.

The next few photos all have Martin touching him. His chest, that is. Most of them are borderline in Jon being comfortable in looking at them. “Not that one.” He says, and Martin deletes it. “Or that one either.” That too goes into the bin.

There’s nothing in particular that separates those two pictures from the other four Martin has of his hands on Jon’s chest. There’s just something in the composition - the shadows and highlights that perhaps suggest more cleavage than he has. Is that it? Jon doesn’t know, he just can’t stand to look at them. The rest are fine so long as Jon himself isn’t expected to view them for long, mostly just Martin pinching at his nipples. Which reminds Jon...

“I’ll consider nipple clamps, but I’m not getting a piercing.” Another piercing, that is. Some of his holes from Jon’s uni days are still open, even if he doesn’t wear jewelry in them often.

“I’m sorry, what?” Martin says.

“You brought up something about nipple clamps and piercings during? If that wasn’t just dirty talk from nowhere, I’m happy to try nipple clamps sometime, provided I’m comfortable getting out my chest. Piercing them is a hard no though.” The idea with bells? That’s more of a maybe. Jon isn’t really sure if he wants an audio alert of every his chest jiggles.

“Oh, I shall, uh, bear that in mind.” Martin says. “Next few?”

The next couple are of Martin’s hand down the front of his underwear. It’s interesting how Jon can just about tell the exact positioning of Martin’s hand from the distorted shape it makes in the front of his briefs. In the first picture, he thinks Martin is rubbing his clit, but in the second there’s definitely a couple of fingers inside him.

When Jon says nothing about those photos, Martin moves on to the next couple - some shots of Jon from the bottom of the bed once he’d got the cuffs around his ankles. They’re framed in such a way that you can see Jon’s entire body from the feet up stretched out on the bed.

“Those are nice.” Jon says. “Feet really aren’t a thing for me, but the perspective is very interesting.”

“Yeah, same with the feet, but I like these shots too.” Jon suspects Martin has a different reason for liking them than he does. “I don’t think I have any from this angle where you’re completely naked.”

“That’s a pity,” Jon says, “I’m sure that would look good too.”

Martin nods, and scrolls further through the photoset. The next one has Jon staring up at the camera with Martin’s penis in his mouth. It appears they have reached the blowjob part of the scene. He lets Martin flick through them. Jon can understand why Martin might want so many of this, but he doesn’t find them that interesting to look at.

“Not that one.” Jon says. “Or that one. Or that.” Martin deletes them without asking Jon for a reason. It’s vain really, but Jon just thinks he looks ugly in them. There are tears running down his face in a lot of them, but those ones are snotty too.

“Are the rest fine?” Martin asks.

“Sure. I find these ones a bit boring to be honest. A bit of running eye make-up might make them more interesting.”

“You don’t wear make-up, though.” Martin says.

“I have, in the past. And after I transitioned, thank you.” He can see what Martin is about to say. “Went through a phase of it in uni, guyliner and the works. Make-up is one of the few upsides I found comes with living as a woman.”

“Would you do it again?” Martin asks softly.

“I’m not sure.” He replies. “Maybe? If you wanted? Not a full face though, just something subtle. Or subtle-ish. I don’t believe that cosmetics should be gender specific, but society has some preconceived notions about men in make-up.”

“Meaning you end up out of luck if you’re male and ugly.” Martin says.

“You do fine.” Jon tells Martin, and kisses him before he can say anything to the contrary. It’s a suitable enough distraction.

They reach the last of the photos of Martin in Jon’s mouth and switch instead to a series of Jon’s underwear being cut off. There’s not many of them - Martin needed both hands for ripping them.

“It’s a pity these are stills.” Jon says.

“You’re really into me ripping off your clothes, aren’t you?” Martin says.

“Yes.” Jon admits. Like it’s any kind of secret. “These photos are almost incomplete without the sound that goes with it though. Keep going.”

The next few are pictures of Martin fingering him. They aren’t that interesting on their own, but together they show a steady progression of Jon falling apart. How his body yields to each subsequent finger Martin adds. How Jon’s slick spreads over Martin’s hand and his own body the longer Martin keeps working him over.

Then comes the photo of the dildo laid over Jon’s hip.

“Oh.” He says. “I really took all of that?”

It’s…

Well there’s only so many synonyms for ‘big’ aren’t there? Sure, it isn’t impossibly large, but neither is Jon and that thing is near on coming up to his belly button. Jon didn’t know there was that much room inside him. That he could make that much room inside himself.

“You did.” Martin replies. “Do you want to see? I’m very proud of you.”

There’s a variety of shots at different stages of Martin inserting the toy. They aren’t all at the same angle - some are zoomed in, zeroed on his cunt, but others show Jon’s whole body and the expression on his face as he tries to take the dildo. Jon’s favourite is once that shows the mixture of agony and ecstasy on his face as he’s stretched around the apex of the knot on the toy. The one after that is where it’s fully seated.

Jon is silent for a moment looking at them.

“I don’t think there are any of me inside of you.” Martin says.

“You were understandably distracted.” Jon says.

“Well, yes,” Martin says, “being inside of you is intoxicating. Once I’m in you I can’t really focus on much more than how much I want you. Nothing else really compares.”

“Nothing?” Jon asks with humour. He enjoys sex plenty, but apparently not as much as Martin. There’s plenty of things Jon would rather not have interrupted just to have sex. Like a particularly engrossing book.

“Maybe you inside of me?” Martin says.

“You have a one track mind.”

“Yeah,” Martin says, “all I can think about is you.”

Jon feels the heat rise to his cheeks. That wasn’t the answer he predicted. He wasn’t expecting to be the one blushing here. Martin leans over and kisses him softly and Jon follows along. When Martin pulls away, Jon chases him, eager for another sweet silly kiss.

Martin rewards him with a peck, but no more than that. “C’mon, let’s finish looking at the photos. We’re almost done - there’s only the ones I took afterwards left now.”

The pictures of Martin holding him down by his neck are interesting. It’s difficult to tell whether the expression in his eyes is fear or arousal and Jon supposes a selection of people might view it differently. The next few photos document the path Martin’s fingers up over his jaw and prying into his mouth until they get to the ones where Jon is suckling on the fingers Martin placed against his tongue.

They’re almost at the end now. Jon thinks there’s probably just the photos and video of, well, the _aftermath_ Martin left in him. (He’s clean now, it’s out of him Jon has to remind himself as his heartbeat picks up.)

But first there’s a blurred photo of Jon bringing his hands down over his chest. Martin grunts and deletes it before Jon can ask him to, although Martin’s criteria was probably the low quality, not the abundance of curved flesh in it that brings a cold chill to Jon’s chest.

Then Jon’s staring at an image of his cunt, which, arguably, is starting back at him. He’s not going to win that blinking competition. There’s a few more with Martin’s hand on him spreading his lips. Most of them are okay, but there’s one where it’s just a closeup of his genitals and Martin is spreading him wide enough to see inside, wet and flushed and fleshy and-

“Delete that one.” Jon says. Looking at it is making him a little dizzy, although he can’t really parse at why. “You can’t even tell it’s me.”

“I’d know.” Martin says, but the photo is already gone. “I know every inch of you.”

Martin scrolls on. The next one has a large play symbol in the middle of the screen. The video, then.

“I’m excited about this one. I might end up coming back to it, y’know. If you’re okay with me keeping it.” Martin says.

“You’re already planning to jerk off to this?” Jon asks. It makes sense, but he can’t really see the appeal.

“Uh, maybe? I mean yes. But I don’t - I don’t have to. I’d really like to though, if you’re fine with me keeping it? This one over all the others, t-to be honest.” Martin says. “It would just be for me. I wouldn’t share it with anyone.”

“If you wanted to,” Jon says carefully, “I don’t think I’d mind.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Not to anyone we actually know.” He clarifies. “But if you wanted to share any of this online, on a porn site or such…”

Jon bites his lip. The idea of anyone being able to see him like this is thrilling. Even if it means letting these images out of his control. Unpicking the reason why that is is a bit more unsettling, so Jon does his best to set it aside.

“You’re alright with that?” Martin asks.

“I like the idea.” Jon confesses. “That anyone could find them and find my body arousing. I don’t want to pick over whether this is the Eye’s doing, if that’s why I like the idea of people seeing it. Of seeing me. I don’t want to think about that. It can be your decision about whether you do post them, and where. If you are comfortable with it. But tell me if you do.”

“I’ll consider it.” Martin says. “Are you okay with me keeping the video then?”

“Let’s watch it first.”

Martin presses play. Jon watches himself. Martin caught it on a reasonably wide angle - most of his body is in the shot too. There are parts of him shining with sweat, although his chest has mostly stopped heaving. In the forefront, his cunt is slick and open. It’s clear he’s just been fucked, and fucked good.

In the video, his feet are planted on the mattress, his thighs splayed wide, his hips angles subtly up. Jon watches in rapture as his cunt begins to twitch. It pulses a couple of times before the come starts to appear from within it. It’s a few more seconds of the Jon on screen trying to push it out of himself before he’s gathered enough semen for it to drip out of his twitching hole.

A couple more globs follow the first one and they slowly drip down. Jon keeps trying for another dozen seconds or so until it’s clear that he’s not going to manage to get any more out of himself. There’s still thick white fluid all around and inside his entrance. A few seconds after that, Martin’s hand appears and his finger slides into Jon and scoops out the rest of the mess.

The speakers on Martin’s phone aren’t great, but the timbre of the reedy moan Jon makes is still very apparent. Both of them watch, red-faced, as Martin wipes what’s on his fingers across Jon’s skin.

The video finishes. Before it can reply, Martin flicks to the next and final photo. The one they started on. Essentially just a still of the way Jon looked at the end.

“You can keep both of those.” Jon says.

“Great.” Martin says. “To be clear - none of these do anything for you?”

“Not really, no.” Jon replies. “Some of them are nice, aesthetically speaking, but I find it a little strange to be looking at pictures of myself.”

“It’s not sexual, you just like looking at attractive things.” Martin says.

“Exactly.”

Martin is quiet for a moment. Too long of a moment. Somewhere along the conversation he pulled away from Jon. They’re only inches apart, but it feels like fathoms. Jon watches Martin’s hands bunch nervously at the bedsheets and Jon wonders if it would break the moment to pick them up and hold them.

“I’m not an attractive person.” Martins says.

“Says who?” Jon meets his gaze levelly.

“Society.” Martin says. “You. I’m-” He pinches at the roll of his stomach.

“I think you’re attractive.” This time Jon can’t resist picking up one of Martin’s hands. “Yes, it’s not sexual attraction, I’m not sexually attracted to anyone. I’m not even sure I understand what sexual attraction is. But you’re still plenty nice to look at.”

“Don’t humour me.”

“I’m not, I swear!” Jon says. “I like your colour palette, the contrast between your hair and your skin. I love every one of your freckles and they way they begin to blend in when you blush - yes just like that. I like your smile, how it puts everyone at ease, and the way you sometimes smile at me for no reason when you think I’m not looking. I like feeling your arms around me-”

Martin hugs him. “You can stop now.” He says.

“I’m not going to.” Jon says. “I like your hugs. I like the way you smell, and I get that best when you hug me, or when I wear your clothes. I like wearing your clothes.”

“I like it when you wear my clothes.” Martin says.

“Really, I hadn’t guessed.” Jon says dryly. “But I haven’t got to the most important part yet.”

“What’s that?” Martin asks. His smile is uneasy.

“I love you and that’s the only thing that matters.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Y'all, please remember to wash your sex toys. Just, y'know, not with the spuds for your Sunday roast.  
> -Also, go and drink some water.


End file.
